


Inevitable Truths

by captainleo



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Accidental Baby Yoda Acquisition, Clumsy!Mandalorian, Developing Friendships, Din Djarin - Freeform, Din just wants to be a good dad, Domestic Fluff, Dyn Djarren, Families of Choice, Family, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character(s), Parenthood, Some Plot, Sorgan, Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22156150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainleo/pseuds/captainleo
Summary: Din Djarin can be very clumsy- a fact few people are around him long enough to find out.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Omera (Star Wars)
Comments: 181
Kudos: 622





	1. heads up

The sunlight of the early morning streamed though the Sorgan village. Everything was bathed in hazy golden light. The ponds were a chorus of small noises and the Mandalorian leaned in the doorway of the barn quietly enjoying the serenity. In his line of work, peace was hard to come by, and he made a point to soak up every bit he could when he found it.

The child snored gently in the crib behind him. He sighed contentedly as he turned back into the barn. Life on Sorgan wouldn’t last forever, he knew, but for now, it was good. Necessary, even. The child stirred as he passed and with sleep still heavy in his eyes reached up for the man. A soft exhale was audible through the tinny speakers of his visor as he lifted the child up to his shoulder.

“Good morning, ad’ika,” his voice was colored by a warmth he wasn’t used to. It had showed up recently, but judging by the way his heart swelled as a little green head thunked onto his pauldron, he figured it wouldn’t be going away any time soon. “Watch it, womp rat. No drooling on the beskar.”

His toothless admonishment was met with a squeak and a small grumble as the child shifted in his arms. Din sighed and tried to wipe the smile from his face—even though no one could see it—and turned on his heel.

He knew the moment the boy smelled food he would perk up. Plus, the sooner the kid ate, the sooner he could eat and he was _hungry_. As if on cue, the child’s head whipped around as they moved into the longhall where the smell of cooking krill and other various gathered vegetation lingered in the air. He bounced happily in the Mandalorian’s arms as they made their way up to the firepit. The woman smiled at him as he approached, already reaching out with a small plate full of food. He nodded and settled them at a table near the windows.

The child took the pieces of food Din tore up with vigor, contentedly babbling nonsense all the while. They got halfway through the plate before the child decided Din was unnecessary to the process and dove in with his little claws. With a clipped hum, he sat back and watched the village stir to life out the window. Soon the hall was filling with voices and bodies as everyone began their day.

“Good morning,” Din turned his head to find Omera taking the seat across from him. She smiled at the child and ran a long finger over the top of a fuzzy, green ear. She was rewarded with a pleased chirp and the child, now satisfied with his meal, plopped himself into her lap.

“Morning,” Din answered. He had a million things he wanted to say to Omera but always found it impossible to say them. Every time he thought he could work up the courage to, he either held his tongue or was interrupted.

“Morning, Tin Can. Omera.” Cara slides up to Omera’s side and swings a leg over the bench. Din rolls his eyes and sighs, knowing it’ll be heard.

“Dune,” Din answers flatly.

“Good morning, Cara. Did you sleep well?” Omera’s voice, even and patient as ever.

“Yes, I did. Thank you _very_ much for asking, Omera,” Cara said pointedly, a smirk growing on her lips. “Why don’t you ever ask after my health, Tin Can?”

“Well, maybe because you call me ‘Tin Can’, for one,” he started, taking the bait. As everything on Sorgan had become, this was part of the normal routine- a good natured sparring between the ex-shock trooper and the Mandalorian. Sometimes it was verbal sparring, other times it was physical sparring—much to the annoyance of several villagers, Omera topping that list—but, for the most part, it ended with laughter from Dune and an unseen smile from Din. He’d grown accustomed to it.

“I just do it to keep you humble. If your head gets too big it won’t fit in your helmet,” Cara punctuated through bites of her food. The three fell into an amicable conversation, the child crawling from lap to lap and babbling along as if he were saying anything recognizable. They’d reached a lull when Din’s stomach decided to growl loudly, earning him appraising looks from the women at the other side of the table.

“You should go eat,” Omera said, reaching over the table to take the child from where he’d been chewing on a corner of the Mandalorian’s cape. “You must be starving.”

He reddened slightly, suddenly grateful for the protection of his helmet. “How could you tell?”

Cara ribbed him lightly as he stood and made his way over to the fire again. The woman had seen him coming, and just like always, had a heaping plate already in his hands before he could ask. He thanked her and made his way to the door.

Cara and Omera faced him, both empty handed, and instinctively he swiveled his head to locate the child. Quickly, he found him in Winta’s arms as she bounded over to where the other children had gathered to eat. With a quick sigh of relief, he began to turn back to nod to the two women, but before he could something slammed into the front of his helmet making the beskar ring deafeningly in his ears.

It took him by surprise—so much so that he dropped his plate of food and it clattered loudly on the paneled floor. A quick strangled noise escaped his mouth and he reeled back slightly, his head taking most of the impact.

He regained his bearings quickly. Looking around he realized all eyes were on him. Spinning back the other way, Omera and Cara came into view just as something dark threatened to slam him again. He raised his hand, found it against something solid and with a step back realized with slight horror that he’d walked directly into the crossbeam of the ceiling support posts.

The entire place was silent. His cheeks and ears grew hot and he looked to his friends for some form of help. Instead, he was met with two wide-eyed, full grinned expressions of total shock. He could see Cara formulating a million ways to use this against him and Omera—bless her, he thought—tried to stifle her laughter under his gaze. Quickly, he scooped the plate off the floor, not much had fallen off on its way down, and started toward the door again, this time ducking completely out of the way of the crossbeam.

“Holy shit—” Cara began, but Din didn’t stop walking.

“Watch it…” he warned, his tone low, so only Cara could hear as he brushed past her. He knew he would never live this down. He’d made it to the doorway before he heard her voice call after him.

“Watch your head on the door frame!”

Din hesitated slightly, trying to think of a smart retort, but instead huffed and shook his head before completing his storm out of the hall.

Overall, his stay on Sorgan was enjoyable and a deep part of him longed for the closeness of friends and family again. However, he had forgotten that with closeness, comes the inevitable truth of people finding out that, though almost always poised, Din Djarin could be _very_ clumsy.


	2. have a nice trip?

As much as he hated to admit it, Din had always been prone to being clumsy. Even as a young boy, before he swore his life to the Creed, he would find himself in small yet embarrassing situations almost daily.

He has a distinct memory of his mother with tears of laughter streaming down a flour-covered face after his attempt at ‘helping’ her bake. Her laughter was sweet, and he found himself laughing too as he tried to blow away the cloud of flour that swarmed their heads. It only served in making it worse and sent them further into fits of giggles. His father had poked his head through the window and chuckled as he wiped a finger along the sill. It came away stark white and he quirked an amused eyebrow in Din’s direction.

“This flour has Din Djarin’s name written all over it,” he had quipped, mirth flooding the words.

“This whole kitchen has Din’s name all over it, then!” his mother wrapped him in a hug and tickled his sides. He squirmed and protested but laughed and laughed though it all.

Din’s heart squeezed in his chest at the memory. Maybe being clumsy hadn’t always been a bad thing, but it was drilled from his body when he was adopted by the Clan. It wasn’t becoming of a young warrior to be constantly tripping or dropping weapons, so he drilled and focused. Through years of training, he was almost rid of it. If he was focused, he had the precision and grace of the best fighters in the galaxy.

Sorgan, however, was not a battlefield and he had begun to relax into a version of domestic life. He didn’t have to be focused all the time. The tension between his shoulder blades had loosened. When he was flying through space in his ship, he could let himself have a bit of freedom. He didn’t have to worry if he dropped a wrench on his foot or smacked his helmet on the entrance to the cockpit; no one was there to see it. The small village had lulled him into comfort and suddenly he found himself slipping back into his clumsy tendencies.

Like yesterday morning in the hall.

He’d made sure the rest of the day he was focused, not willing to lose his intimidating reputation because he was letting his guard down. The morning had gone well, too, so much so that he hadn’t even thought about it until Cara threw a joke about it on the breakfast table. He’d watched with his lips pressed in a thin line and deep even breaths as Omera covered her mouth with her palm. Cara clinked her fork loudly against her metal cup trying to replicate the sound of his helmet hitting the crossbeam.

“Are we going to work or are you going to spend all day annoying me?” Din cut in after five whole minutes of snickering.

“Are you assuming I can’t multitask?” Cara said, the challenge thick in her voice as she leaned forward. With a heavy sigh, the Mandalorian stood from his seat, bid Omera goodbye, checked on the kid one last time, and followed Cara out the main door. Today was a patrol day and since there wasn’t any other jobs they could be of much use for in the village, they’d decided to keep each other company.

Din was seriously reconsidering that.

They started off into the woods, neither one speaking. They’d walked a hundred paces into the thicket before splitting apart about fifty feet. They kept within shouting distance of each other, but Din was silently glad for the respite from the barrage of insults. It didn’t much bother him usually. He knew Cara was only joking, and he had taken plenty of opportunities to fire back at her, but he didn’t get much quiet during the days on Sorgan. They had only been in the village a couple of weeks and some of the inhabitants were just starting to have the courage to approach him. They asked him questions, asked after the child and once they felt comfortable enough, most would chew his ear off with anything they could think of to say. Generally, it was the most curious of the children who would approach him, and he found it _extremely_ difficult to say no to them or shoo them away. His own impromptu foray into childcare had brought out things in him he had never experienced before. He was beginning to wonder if he was even the same person as he was a month ago.

There was still a great deal of skepticism and wariness of his presence in the village from the adults. They tolerated him, mostly he thought, because Omera and Cara trusted him. It was a delicate balance they had all wordlessly agreed to. He expected it, though, and was grateful for their toleration at the least. This was the longest he’d spent in one place in years. He also wasn’t eager to throw away his reputation—he didn’t want to scare anyone here, but a healthy amount of intimidation was enough.

Din spent the morning lost in his thoughts. Occasionally, he would throw a glance over his shoulder. Cara was still within his sight and she would tilt her chin up when she caught the line of his visor. The sun was high in the sky and the day was hot, even in the shade of the forest. He stopped and allowed Cara to catch up to him.

“What’re you thinking, Mando?”

“I’m thinking its time for a break.” She nodded and gestured with her head toward a small clearing ahead of them.

“There’s a small creek right up there. That’s as good a place as any.”

“Lead the way.”

They chatted lightly as they reached the water’s edge. Cara wasted little time tossing her boots and socks aside to wade into the water. A small sigh escaped her chest as the cool water pooled around her calves. Din exhaled softly, a small part of him jealous of the casual relief she could afford. He turned to survey the small area. It was beautiful, he had to admit. The ground across the small basin of water ascended, its peak just about eight feet above the water’s surface before cascading back around to where he was standing. The water flowed gently over the hill’s edge, spilling over moss covered rocks. Flowers of vibrant colors dotted the wall behind the waterfall. The pool was clear, and the bottom was covered in flat, round stones worn smooth by the moving water. It didn’t appear much deeper than he was tall, he suspected.

The Mandalorian crossed the small stream that flowed out of the pond, taking note of the small aquatic life that teemed around the shallows. He didn’t stop until he was on top of the waterfall, surveying the land around them. Cara watched from the banks below; she had moved from the water and now sat in a patch of sunlight near her discarded boots.

“What’s up there?”

“More of the same,” he called back. With an exhale, he began his descent back the way he came.

“How ‘bout you sit down, Mando. The coast is clear,” Cara said, her voice echoing slightly off the wall below him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he tossed dismissively. He turned his visor so he could glare at Cara for her mother henning. “I’m coming, I’m com—” his words stuck in his throat as his foot snagged a root. He felt himself falling and knew no amount of Mandalorian grace could catch him. The water raced up and around him and pushed the air from his lungs. His armor was heavy, and his limbs kicked around violently, trying to gain purchase on anything. Water had filled his helmet and his brain screamed at him in alarm. At all once, his survey of the pool came rushing back to him in total clarity— _the water isn’t that deep_. With all his strength, he righted himself and stood, his arms and head breaking the surface. The water drained from his helmet quickly and he took a deep, gasping breath. He blinked the water from his eyes and realized Cara was knee deep in the water a few feet away from him. Her expression was serious.

“You okay in there?” She ventured, reaching a hand out. He took it gratefully and began to pull his waterlogged body toward the shore.

“Yeah,” he rasped, still breathless, his helmet speakers crackling from the moisture. He flopped down on the smooth bank. His armor was usually heavy, but the water made it difficult to move his limbs with it’s added weight. Cara’s hands hovered protectively, but he waved her off with a small gesture. “I’m fine, just heavy.”

“What?” He glanced up and found Cara’s concerned expression lingering in the furrow of her brow.

“I’m fine, just have to dry out,” he said, looking down to take in the state of his suit. He was dripping and creating a large puddle on the rocks beneath him.

“Hey!” Cara’s arms were suddenly catching his chest and pushing his head and shoulders backward. “You feel like you’re going to pass out?”

Din pushed her arms away from his shoulders and huffed. “No. I’m just wet,” he huffed. Her hands returned, despite his protests, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was wrong with her. It was like she couldn’t hear him.

Shit.

She _couldn’t_ hear him. Or at least, she couldn’t understand him. His helmet’s crackling speakers must sound worse from the outside he realized with an audible curse.

“I got that one, loud and clear,” she mumbled, eyes still searching for some definitive answer after his health. He sighed in resignation.

“I’M FINE,” he called, his voice echoing painfully in his own ears. “JUST. WET.”

Cara exhaled with a shake of her head. His voice was muffled, and she realized she was hearing it from underneath the visor instead of through the busted speakers. She shoved his shoulders and stood.

“Just _wet_? You’re a genius, anyone ever tell you that?” She quipped, a smile creeping slowly across her face. “I can’t believe I just got to watch you fall off a cliff.”

Din sighed and began to try and squeeze some of the water from the places where the cloth wasn’t covered in beskar. He’d prefer to not take his armor off in the middle of the woods with Cara here if he didn’t have to. She sat down next to him and stretched in the sun with a small chuckle that grew slowly into a laugh. It lulled for a second before she exploded into full out guffawing. He pursed his lips and tried to shake the water from the pieces of hair in front of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said between shaking laughter. “I’m sorry. Mando, really, I thought you hitting your head was funny, but I can’t and will never be able to get you falling out of my head.”

“THANKS,” he said flatly, not wanting to be amused by her taunts, but trying to picture himself in full beskar, flying off a four-foot cliff into a pool of water did seem ridiculous.

“C’mon! You were like,” she punctuated the next bit with a poor reenactment complete with flailing limbs and sound effects. He watched Cara from the corner of his visor and found himself chuckling. He had to admit, it was probably pretty funny.

He knew he should feel some shade of mortification at his lack of decorum, but he just couldn’t find it in himself. His attitude had shifted ever since meeting the child. The Way still guided his every move, but ever since that small green bundle latched onto his heartstrings, he felt like he didn’t have to try so hard to be the perfect warrior- the perfect Mandalorian. The child didn’t care if he stubbed his toe or dropped a plate of food, in fact—in his limited experience—he found mirth in Din’s occasional clumsiness. The baby would laugh and laugh, his little hands reaching up to be held or to slowly ebb the pain away. It felt familiar. It felt like family. _His_ family, he realized.

A laugh bubbled up in his chest and he allowed himself the small rift in his stoic demeanor. Soon he was laughing just as loudly as Cara, which only served to make her laugh harder. Din laid back on the stones, their sun-soaked surfaces inviting to his damp clothes. His chest shook as he tried to take deep breaths between chuckles to center himself. Cara had mirrored his position as the fit of laughter trickled off to just deep, breath-catching sighs. They stared at the sky through the trees, the sun slipping from its high noon position.

“We should get back,” Din said after a few moments.

“You’re going to have to speak up. I can’t hear you over the sound of your two left feet,” she joked, shoving his shoulder.

“WE SHOULD HEAD BACK,” he said louder, punctuating each word.

“Why didn’t you just say so?” She said, her voice thick with sweet sarcasm. She offered a hand and helped haul the Mandalorian to his feet. A lot of the water had drained away, but he was still soaked to the bone. His limbs hung heavier than they usually did, but he could make the trip back without having to take off his armor. Small mercies, he thought.

“I am glad you’re alright, though,” Cara said after a few quiet moments of walking. He turned his visor and tried to catch her eyes, but she was pointedly staring straight ahead. Feeling his unwavering gaze, she turned slightly. “What?”

“GETTING SOFT ON ME?” That earned him a huff and a quick flash of a grin.

“No, I just didn’t want to have to scrape Mandalorian off the bottom of that pond.” Her words held no malice. Din smiled under his visor, reveling in feelings he hadn’t felt since he was a young boy in the kitchen with his parents, covered in flour and laughing freely. The child had changed him—that was for certain—but the people who had shown him that being close to others isn’t always a weakness had changed him too. For better or worse.

“THANK YOU, CARA,” he said, just loud enough so that she could hear him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you to all who've joined on this ride! Don't forget, I'm absolutely open to (and hopeful for!) suggestions for some sticky situations for our clumsy Mandalorian, so feel free to let me know! As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated!


	3. stuck between a rock and a hard place

It had been weeks since the villagers had defended their home from the Klatooinians. Repairs had been made quickly to the essential buildings and homes, but the real challenge had begun when they changed focus to the AT-ST in the krill pond. It had been days of Cara, Omera, and the Mandalorian strategizing the best way to dislodge the walker without causing even more damage to the pond. As it was, it would have to undergo major reconstruction and careful re-population, Omera had said, pacing in front of her home’s fireplace. Cara and Din had shared a glance and a shrug, both rather uneducated on the nuances of krill farming. Eventually, after much deliberation and a half bottle of a sweet-smelling alcohol Omera had pulled from a trunk, they decided to lift the walker with the _Razor Crest_ and then begin the scrapping process in the morning.

They’d spent the rest of the night chattering, Din content to mostly listen to Omera and Cara. Their conversation was calming, the sound of voices lulling him comfortingly. He glanced over to where Winta had fallen asleep with the Child tucked under one arm. He was sleeping as well; a gentle snore escaping with each rise and fall of his chest. Din found himself smiling. This place was good for them, he knew. His thoughts drifted around from his clan, to the child, to the bounty hunters on their trail. He knew they couldn’t stay on Sorgan forever, as much as the idea became more appealing each day. Eventually, danger would come, and he’d be damned if anyone in the village got hurt because he didn’t want to give up playing house.

“Hey,” a soft voice made him pull his head up. He didn’t remember closing his eyes and he definitely didn’t remember letting his head fall to rest on his chest. Omera’s hand was on his knee, her face tipped forward. Cara was lounging in the seat across from him, giving him an amused, but gentle, smirk.

“Did I fall asleep?” Din’s voice was thick and it rumbled in his chest. He blinked a few times, bringing the world back into full focus. His question garnered a soft laugh from Omera which pulled and twisted the muscles in his chest in a way he wasn’t used to.

“You tell me,” she said, her tone soft but playful. She stood and walked over to Winta. A gentle hand smoothed the hair away from her face. Din watched, entranced, feeling like he shouldn’t be observing something so tender between a mother and daughter. The lamplight cast dark shadows around the room; it’s light warm and soothing. He could feel himself slowly nodding off again and stretched out trying to fight it.

“Go rest,” Omera returned, offering a small bundle of blanket to him. The Child’s ears stuck out from the swaddling and Din sighed, a sleepy smile ticking the corners of his mouth upward.

“K'olar, ad'ika. Ni've got gar,” he murmured as he pulled him up to rest on his chest. He ran a hand along an ear and the child shifted and made a contented hum. Standing, he realized he had two pairs of eyes glued to him, both with accompanying smiles. He bid both women goodnight quietly before stepping out into the brisk night air.

***

The next morning was chaotic despite their best efforts. Pulling the walker from the pond drew the attention of the entire village. Din wanted to protest their presence altogether, but something told him that would be impossible. He settled for just pushing them back to a safe distance; the last thing anyone needed was a curious villager to get crushed by a falling walker or a crashing _Razor Crest_. He still wasn’t entirely confident the weight of the AT-ST would be held aloft by his ship, but there wasn’t much in the way of other options.

Cara directed him through his ship’s comm system. The _Crest_ strained loudly against the load, but he gritted his teeth and pushed it further. Eventually, the walker rose from the pond and Din carefully guided it over the village. The clearing behind the last of the residences was big enough to accommodate a non-functional AT-ST. After two hours of work, the machine lay limp in the grass of the field and the small crowd cheered through the speakers of his ship while Cara called to inform him they’d detached the lines.

He landed the _Crest_ nearby and strode over to Omera and Cara. The crowd was slowly dispersing now, the action over. Some of the children tried to climb the metal beast, but were shooed away by the elders, still mistrusting of its inert form.

“I have to hand it to you, that was some tricky maneuvering, Mando,” Cara offered with a firm pat on the shoulder. Din exhaled a sharp laugh. Most people were afraid to even approach him let alone think they could touch his armor without getting blasted into next week, but that rule never applied to Cara. She was always quick with a rough, but physical gesture and Din was no exception, he had observed. The first few times she’d done it caught him off-guard, but now he found it a welcome change of pace.

“Coming from you? I might as well sign up to be a pod racer,” he tossed an elbow out and caught her arm, which earned him a firm punch. Omera chuckled but ducked her head and headed to get a closer look at the machine’s parts.

“I think we’ll be able to salvage a lot of parts and sell them at a nearby trading post,” Omera said thoughtfully. She peered inside trying to get a better look. The whole thing was still dripping in water and the bottom was covered in mud. Din stepped forward and knelt, hands roving over the outer pieces. Slowly, the three began combing across the walker. Parts were tossed into piles- sellable and non-sellable. It was a slow and tedious process. They worked quietly, mostly calling each other over to inspect pieces for quality only if necessary. The sun was sliding past its zenith when Cara let out a frustrated huff and slid out from a channel beside the cockpit.

“What’s wrong?” Omera lifted her head and tossed the piece in her hand to a pile.

“I’m trying to get a better look inside the innerworkings but the damn thing’s too dark,” Cara said, wiping grease from her arms.

“I’ve got a light on my helmet. Let me,” Din offered, pushing himself up. Cara pointed to the space she had been tucked into.

“If you lay on your back you should be able to shift up to get a better look inside. There’s a particularly expensive converter in there; if that’s intact, you’re looking at some serious credits.”

Din was already on his back sliding inside the walker’s small hatch. His armor scraped unpleasantly against the metal body, but he shifted his shoulders and squeezed further inside. With the light switched on, he could get a pretty good look, though there wasn’t a lot of space to move around. There were wires laced everywhere and the small gears created a latticework of the column.

“What am I looking for?” he called, his voice echoing in the small chamber.

“It’s a small black box the size of your hand. It’s got red and light blue wires, probably a gold emblem on the front from the manufacturer. Can’t miss it,” Cara’s muffled voice filtered through.

Din shifted again, trying to get a better look above him. It took him a few minutes of sifting through wires and broken metal scrap, but he spotted a glint of gold just a few inches out of his reach.

“Found it,” he grunted, trying to shimmy up. “Give me a second.”

His feet scrabbled against the mud outside the walker, trying to find purchase. He needed just a bit more leverage to push himself the last few inches. His heel caught on the outside of the metal carcass and he forced himself upward. The converter came away in his hand easily.

“Got it!” he shouted, small victory fresh in his voice. He folded forward with the intent to slide out the way he came. His body jerked down a few inches and he felt his helmet slide from his head. In a panic, he twisted his body the wrong way and his progress down the shaft halted noisily.

His head was half out of his helmet, his chest plate was uncomfortably pressed into his ribs between the diagonal of the column, and one arm was pinned to his side. He huffed in annoyance realizing quickly his situation, but his heart still thumped rapidly in his chest. With a pull of his heel against the hole, he tested the strength of the hold.

The Mandalorian was _very_ stuck.

He sighed loudly and relaxed his legs in defeat, knowing they would be of no use right now. He let the converter fall past him and saw a hand reach out to pick it up from the mud.

“You alright?” Omera’s voice resounded up into the walker. It sounded slightly different not coming through his helmet’s speakers.

“Uh…” he offered a bit helplessly. He jerked again, trying in vain to loosen the walker’s hold. “I am…uh…stuck.”

“How stuck?” Cara’s voice echoed through somewhere around his left side.

“Oh, stars.” He heard Omera mumble.

“Very,” he huffed, trying to figure out a way to dislodge his helmet first. There was no way he was getting out of the walker without it. His blood pressure raced at just the thought. _There had to be a way._

“We could open some of these side panels and—,” Cara offered, knocking on the panel right next to his head.

“No!” Din’s heart leapt into his throat. “No, there’s got to be another way.”

“Why? It’d be the easiest—,”

“My…” he took a stabilizing breath. “My helmet is part of what’s stuck. It came off.”

There was a silence outside the walker that did nothing to calm his nerves. Suddenly, Omera’s hand was gently pressing into his knee which was still hanging at the mouth of the channel. He jumped slightly at the unexpected touch but forced himself calm.

“What else is stuck?”

“My chest plate,” he called.

“Alright, just give us a second,” Omera said, tapping his knee twice before he felt the fabric of her dress brush against his leg. He could hear them talking, but the words didn’t make it into the walker. His head rested against the edge of his helmet; his eyes just able to peer out the bottom. Three times in one week, he mused with a shake of his head. He couldn’t believe his poor luck and lack of focus. This wasn’t like him, and now he’d really done himself in. If he couldn’t get his helmet dislodged, what was he supposed to do? It wasn’t as if he could stay in the walker until he died. That wasn’t practical, nor was it the way he wanted to go out. _Mandalorian- killed by his own stupidity_ , he chastised. _Not exactly a warrior’s death_. It also wasn’t on the top of his list to give up his creed because he got lodged inside a AT-ST while scrapping.

A hand on his leg jolted him from his thoughts.

“We’re going to have to pull you out,” Omera said, her tone gentle but firm.

“We can’t leave you in there, Mando,” Cara called.

He sighed, knowing they were right.

“Fine. But when I say stop—,”

“Hands off. You got it,” Cara said, her strong hands finding his ankle.

“You ready? You’ll have to twist while we pull,” Omera said, taking his other ankle.

“On three?” he offered, his pulse thundering through his body.

Cara counted down and his legs were pulled hard. He shifted, rocking his shoulders forcefully. His chest plate groaned under the pressure and he could feel it squeezing his ribs. With one final attempt, he jolted again and faster than he anticipated he began crashing toward the entrance. He gasped at the sudden movement, stunned. His helmet stayed lodged above him.

“Stop! Stop!” His voice was strangled, edged with emotions he’d rather not admit to. The pulling stopped, but his descent didn’t, his feet not finding purchase in the mud. His mind reeled and his hands scrabbled to find something to stop himself from falling completely out of the walker. They found the lip of the exit and braced, catching him right as the top of his chest plate caught the sunlight.

He forced his eyes open and found his shoulders and head still inside the walker. His breath was shaky as he exhaled.

“Mando?” Cara called, her voice sounding further than he expected. “You good?”

With his mind settling, he realized the two women had turned away, giving him much appreciated privacy. The corner of his eyes prickled with unexpected emotion. His whole life, people would have killed him to get a look at his face, but when presented with an opportunity due to his own mindlessness, these two women chose compassion over curiosity. Nothing could repay that kind of debt.

“Um…” he breathed, trying to regain a semblance of control. “Yes.”

“Can we help?” Omera offered.

“I’m not…” he turned around, looking up the column at the bottom of his helmet. “sure.”

“If you go back up there to get your helmet, you’re going to get stuck again,” Cara pointed out, back still turned.

“But, I can’t…I have to,” he said, unsure. He knew she was right, but there wasn’t any other way around it.

“Can you take your armor off? That was what got you stuck in the first place,” Omera said. Din considered. He wasn’t especially keen on the idea, but options were scarce and beggars, unfortunately, cannot be choosers.

“I’ll have to slide all the way out of the walker for that,” he said, hoping his nerves weren’t apparent in his voice.

“We’ll stay turned around,” Omera offered quickly.

“And keep watch. Make sure no one unexpectedly drops by,” Cara added. He steeled himself.

“Okay,” he said, dropping fully out of the walker. The ground had been marred by footprints and gouges where his boots had dug in. Using the leg as cover, he began unlatching the clasps for his chest and back plates. He forced his breathing to remain even. He stole a glance at his two sentries’ backs. Devoutly turned, each scanning the field toward and away from the village. He turned his full focus back to his armor; the quicker it was off, the quicker he could put it all back on.

“Winta, no!” Omera’s outburst startled him. He crouched lower, turning his head down, blood rushing deafeningly in his ears.

“But, Mama, I just want to help!” Winta protested, her footfalls dangerously close.

“Winta, stop moving,” Omera’s voice took an edge that neither Cara nor Din had ever heard before. Then, more gently, “Actually, can you please go back to the house and grab my first aid kit?”

“Did someone get hurt?” The footfalls had stopped.

“Yes, but just a little bit. There’s no need to worry. I just need a small bandage for the Mandalorian. Can you do that for us?” Omera said.

“Yes!” Winta said, her feet already pounding the earth back in the direction of the village. “I’ll be right back!”

Din let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and his lungs burned.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t think she saw you,” Omera said, breathless. Cara’s hands were balled into fists, tension creeping up her arms and into her shoulders.

“She didn’t,” he whispered. He quickened his work—though made more difficult by the tremors that insisted on gripping his muscles. His brow furrowed as Omera’s words replayed in his head. “I’m not hurt.”

Omera exhaled a soft laugh. “Merely a distraction. Sometimes Winta doesn’t take no for an answer, but if you give her a task she thinks is important, she’ll forgo her headstrong attitude.”

He hummed a low acknowledgement. As he shucked his last piece of upper armor from his arm, he dove back into the relative safety of the walker. There was much more room to move without his armor, and he was able to slide right up the empty column. In his haste and not being used to his skin exposed, he gouged his arm on a particularly sharp scrap of metal. He felt his skin slice painfully open from his shoulder to his elbow and he groaned.

“Mando?” Cara’s voice was to his left again. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s a good thing Winta’s coming back with that med kit,” he grunted through gritted teeth.

“Why?” Omera’s worried tone sounded near his head.

“Just cut my arm.” He shifted up just far enough that he could grab the edges of his helmet. “I’m fine,” he added lamely. Cara mumbled indistinctly, but he could bet all the rations in his ship it was something vaguely derisive.

He yanked his helmet with all his might, the cut on his arm complaining the whole time. It budged slightly, and he doubled his efforts. Finally, it popped clear of its hold and he gratefully slid it back over his head. A sigh of relief escaped his lips and he began the crawl back down.

Din reached out with his good arm to pull himself free, feeling his muscles’ protest at standing full height again. Cara and Omera stood a few feet in front of him with nervous expressions plastered on their faces. He bowed his head slightly and was about to thank them, but Omera gasped and quickly closed the distance. Her movement confused him until he looked down.

The entire arm of his bodysuit was stained dark. His fingers were dripping with his own blood. Omera ghosted her fingers over his arm, trying to determine where the injury was.

“The back,” he relented. She stepped to get a better look and made a displeased sound.

“It will need stitches and to be properly wrapped.”

“I can do it,” he insisted, hoping she would just leave him to tend to himself. He was feeling very exposed and wasn’t keen on stripping down another layer in front of an audience.

“It’s on the back of your arm. That’s impossible,” she huffed, motioning for the first aid kit. Winta ran the last few steps to her mother’s outstretched hand, peering over the leg of the walker to get a better look at the Mandalorian’s wound. “You’ll need to take off your suit.”

Din turned and caught her by the wrist. He lowered his visor to meet her eyes. Her determination melted into something softer, understanding his wordless plea.

“That looks pretty bad…” Winta said, her words full of worry.

“I’m fine, kid. I’ll make it,” he said, releasing Omera’s hand gently. She quickly tied a small amount of gauze over the wound temporarily. Winta ducked under the AT-ST’s leg and regarded the Mandalorian’s current, armor-less state. “Where’s the kid?”

“I left him with Adi when I went to get the first aid kit. I didn’t want him to worry about you, if you were hurt…I hope that’s okay. I know you told me to watch him,” Winta said, sliding closer to the Mandalorian’s side. Adi was one of the particularly outspoken, but well-meaning village elders and had, on several occasions, kept an eye on the kid from the bench outside her home. She wasn’t as skeptical of Din as the others and enjoyed the little one’s company.

“That’s fine. You did good,” Din said, seeing her visibly brighten at his praise. “Thank you, Winta.”

“We’re going to take him back to the barn to get him patched up, Winta,” Omera nudged her daughter’s shoulder softly. Winta moved out of the way and they began the short trek back to the village, Cara collecting the pieces of armor from the mud. Din racked his brain to figure out a way of repaying them all—this village and its people were of more generosity than he’d seen in a very long time. They’re blind acceptance and willingness to help anyone originally struck him as dangerous. Who’s to say they wouldn’t bring trouble directly to their village and welcome it with open arms. He supposed, that’s just what they did with him and Cara, though, and that had turned into a mutually beneficial interaction for all involved. He wasn’t willing to take up their fairly ‘open door’ policy, but he was in debt to them for it.

At some point, Din felt a small hand slip into his own, grabbing his fingers with gentle confidence. He looked down in surprise. Winta looked up, eyes concerned but determined.

“Don’t worry, my mama is very good at making sure it doesn’t hurt too much when she fixes your cuts,” she said, the earnest words cutting straight through to Din’s heart. “She holds your hand too, to make sure you know its going to be okay. That’s why I’m holding your hand now, so you don’t get scared.” She looks around and then gestures for him to lean down to her.

“But, I swear I won’t tell anyone if you do get scared. You can just squeeze my hand,” she whispered, just loud enough for his ears. He straightened up and forced the lump in his throat down.

“Thank you.”

“You’re safe here, Mr. Mandalorian.” Din swivels to catch Omera’s gaze. Her smile is warm and affectionate. These were no doubt words she had said to Winta, now being used to comfort a stranger. His heart squeezed in his chest. He would never be able to repay the debt to Omera, to Cara, to Winta and the whole village; he knew that. But he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try. He didn’t know how, yet, but he’d pour over the thought every day until something struck him. He owed it to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you for all the kind words and suggestions! Keep them coming, I love hearing from you all!   
> It will definitely be longer than 'the four times din was clumsy'; not sure how much longer, but we'll all just have to find out together.


	4. a (little) helping hand

Din swiped a hand across the back of his neck and flicked the sweat from his glove. The days on Sorgon were hot, unpleasantly so, he thought, but the manual labor didn’t stop just because of the weather. Omera had explained that they structured their days around the season- the summers required a break in the midday to get away from the heat, but they could work well into the evening; the winters followed the shorter hours of the sun. He had hummed in agreement then, but now was praising their practices. The sun was high overhead and his beskar did nothing but cook him faster.

Omera had sent him to chop firewood early this morning and he found comfort in the repetitive nature of the task. He’d stacked halfway up the length of her hut before he heard her call to him from inside. Gratefully, he propped the ax beside the hut and ducked into the shade.

He must have sighed audibly, since Omera laughed as she turned to glance over her shoulder when he entered. His cheeks, impossibly, heated more under his helmet.

“Better?” she asked as she busied herself at the small counter.

“Yes,” he said, trying to take even breaths to regulate his body temperature. He could feel the warmth radiating off the beskar and huffed as he sat. “Wood’s cut.”

“How much?”

“I stacked about half the height of your hut. I hope that’s enough,” he said, eyeing the container of water in her hand.

“The whole length?” she said, surprised and turned to face him.

“Yes.” Her eyebrows inched further upwards as she regarded him. “No wonder you’re overheated. Here.” She offered the cup to him, which he took, but could only stare at. When he looked back up to her face she started and shook her head slightly.

“Right. Sorry. There’s food on the stove when you’re ready. I already fed the little one, so don’t let him fool you,” she said, pointing her finger toward a pair of pointy, green ears sticking out from under a basket that was sliding across the floor. Din huffed a laugh.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s only fair, I got to sit in the shade and shuck krill shells all morning. You deserve a break,” she said, a playful warmth in her tone.

“Thank you, Omera,” he said, looking back to the water in his hand. Omera nodded and breathed another laugh before ducking out the fabric-covered doorway.

No sooner than the door covering flapped shut, he whipped his helmet off with one hand and unceremoniously dumped the entire cup of water on his head. He gasped as the fresh air filled his lungs. The water dripped down his back and the small breeze that blew through the open window felt cool against his skin. He let his head hang as he began untying one of his boots, water dripping from his hair onto the floor.

The child peeked out from under the basket and watched his guardian with fascination. He cooed inquisitively and shuffled over. Din abandoned the laces of his boot to watch the child reaching up to touch his wet hair.

“Oh yeah?” Din said, smile growing on his face. He shook his head, sending a spray of water across the room. The child squealed and, now covered in water, toddled away. He peeked over his shoulder at Din as he did, seeing if his guardian would catch onto the game. Din smirked and got up, reaching forward. The child turned to reach up and Din shook his head again, effectively earning a shrill shriek followed by the funniest giggling he’d ever heard. The child turned to run away again, Din close behind. The closer he got, the more the child giggled, clearly enjoying the game of chase. Din laughed too, egging the baby on by reaching out and then dragging his hands away slowly. The tease had the child in fits, Din close behind. Finally, Din surged forward, scooping the child into his arms.

He howled with laughter at being caught. Din shook his head one last time and the child reached up to run his tiny claws through the wet strands. He crawled up and perched- with the help of one protective hand- on Din’s shoulder to get a better look. The small claws nudged gently at the side of his face and hair and Din tried to turn to see what exactly what the child was doing. That earned him a squeak of protest.

“Okay, okay. I get it,” he put his free hand up in defeat. Instead, he turned to the small counter where he poured himself a new glass of water- which he promptly drank and refilled- and collected the plate of food. The ministrations to the hair above his ear continued as he sat back down and began eating. He could feel the small palms flatten against his scalp and push up through the strands. It kept the child occupied through his entire meal.

“Alright, what are you doing you little womp rat?” he said, pulling the child into his lap. He patted an un-gloved hand over the side of his head and rolled his eyes. Standing up, he walked over to the small, decorative mirror hanging on the wall near the counter. His hair had all been pushed to stick straight out. It had begun drying like that, tufts pointing out in all directions. The child giggled in his arms and wriggled happily, little hands reaching upward in pride at his work.

“You think this this is funny?” A full smile lit his whole face. Din tickled the child’s stomach and he wiggled harder, laughter ringing loud through the small hut from both parties. “Huh? C’mere you little punk.”

The child wrestled in Din’s arms, happy with the attention and proud of himself for eliciting rare laughter from his guardian. They were both breathless when a light knock sounded outside the door.

“You alright?” Omera’s voice called. “Can I come in?”

“One moment.” Din crossed the room in two paces and swiped his helmet and gloves off the floor, putting the child gently in their place. He had them on in a matter of seconds and reached his hands out to the little one. “Come in.”

The baby had crawled back into Din’s arms and was already trying to reach up to slide his hands under the helmet as Omera drew back the curtain.

“Is everything alright? We heard shrieking and couldn’t really tell if it was good or bad from outside,” Omera looked between his visor and the child cautiously.

“Everything’s fine. The kid and I were having a little…” he felt little claws on his jaw and reached up to pull them away gently. “Disagreement.”

“Oh?” Omera said, clearly not convinced the child’s noises had been laughter or screaming.

“He thought it would be funny to give me a new hairdo. I disagreed,” he said, pointedly looking at the child who giggled and hid his face in the crook of Din’s arm. Squealing and pushing further at a well-aimed poke in the belly, Din smirked in triumph at the child in his arm and looked back at Omera. She sighed, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. She watched as he ducked his helmet to whisper something to the child she didn’t understand.

“What did you say to him?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. He turned to look at her, and she backtracked quickly. “I’m sorry. That was forward of me and—”

“No, its alright. It’s Mando’a,” Din said.

“Your language?” Omera offered, her eyes curious.

“Yes. I told him he’d better behave himself or there would be more where that came from,” Din said, hoping his lighthearted threat said in both languages would stop the kid from reaching up to dig his hands under his helmet.

Omera furrowed her brow. “More of…?”

“Tickling. I was tickling him earlier.” Omera’s eyebrow quirked and a grin splayed across her face. She covered it with her hand. Din sighed quietly and watched as a bit more of his hard-edged reputation flew out the window because of the tiny, cooing bundle in his arms. “He had it coming,” he added, fondness heavy in the words. The plate left abandoned on the floor caught his eye and Din stepped over to grab it. His boot slipped in the puddle the water had left on the floor and his foot squelched loudly. Din felt his foot slipping and he quickly tried to right himself, but the lace of his undone shoe was caught. He began to fall, but aware of the small bundle in the crook of one arm and a very breakable dish in the other, tried to shift his feet under himself again. The lace pulled free and he stomped full weight down on it, effectively catching himself and jolting the plate from his hand.

He juggled the plate, lightly hitting it each time he went to grab it. The child cooed, wide-eyed. Din, still trying to totally regain his balance and control of the dish, wobbled. The dish flew forward, his last attempt knocking it downward. He thrust a hand out in vain, already bracing for the sound of smashing ceramic, but it never came. The plate hovered an inch above the ground and Din turned his head sharply to see the child’s eyes closed and hand reached out toward the ground. Slowly, Din straightened, and the plate lofted gently through the air and tapped his chest plate.

“Show off,” he muttered, embarrassed, and grabbed the plate from the child’s hold.

Omera stared with a hand over her open mouth, smile apparent behind her fingers. The child had levitated objects in Sorgon before—the children found it a fun game for the little one to be the center of—but watching it up close still surprised her. The child looked up to the Mandalorian in anticipation and when awarded with a down-tilted visor, burst out laughing. She couldn’t see his face but could feel the eye roll behind the helmet and couldn’t help but laugh along.

“Not you too,” he said, placing the dish on the counter. “It’s bad enough I have to be laughed at by a baby.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you,” she said, trying to control herself.

“You sure?” Din said, tone light but unconvinced as he turned to lean against the cabinets. He poked the child’s stomach again, chastising him lightly in Mando’a about embarrassing him in front of Omera. “I’m don’t think I believe you.”

“It’s just so hard not to laugh when he’s laughing,” she said, reaching over to stroke his ear. “And, in my defense, it _was_ pretty funny.” Din huffed and shook his head, clearly there was no point in trying to regain any reputation. The damage was written in ink and the child in his arms was holding the pen. They fell into an amicable silence as Din amused the child and Omera began clearing away the plates.

“Do you mind if I ask something?”

“Please,” Din said though he was already fairly certain as to what question was coming next.

“You take your helmet off in front of the child?”

“Yes. Foundlings are permitted to see their guardians.”

“That must be very strange for you,” she said earnestly. He paused, recalling the night only a few days back when he’d decided to reveal his face to the child. It had been a warm night, and the child was playing with a small toy gifted from one of the villagers before being set to bed. As Din had lifted him into his crib, the youngling reached up and placed his tiny hands on either side of his helmet. It had left him with his heart in his throat and mind racing faster than it had ever gone. The child had closed his eyes and Din watched, waiting for some sign or movement. Eventually, the kid sat down and dropped his hands to his sides, ears drooping in defeat. Large eyes welled up with tears, and Din watched in horror as they slipped down green cheeks. Something clicked. The Mandalorian knew that no matter what it cost him he would be responsible for this child. Life, creed, honor- nothing mattered if the child wasn’t at his side. His heart had been made up long ago, he realized, and his head had finally caught up.

He’d removed his gloves and wiped at the tears. He murmured small terms of endearment in Mando’a and Standard and cast his helmet aside, staring wide-eyed at the child in the crib. The kid reached up and Din took him, folding him into his arms, rocking back on his heels, and making promises before he could think them through. Small palms wiped away a stray tear from his own cheek. They had stayed like that for a long while before finally sliding over to Din’s bed, holding onto each other as they slept.

“It was,” he said, his voice thick from the memory. “I got used to it much faster than I expected.”

“He enjoys seeing you,” she said, her eyes not leaving his visor. Din nodded; his own eyes fixed on the child.

“I like making him happy,” he quietly confessed, looking up to search for something in Omera’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what, maybe wisdom or guidance of some kind- she was a parent, right? She sighed knowingly, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“When you’re a parent, things that once seemed too big to sacrifice would be cast away in a heartbeat if it means just a brief moment of happiness for your child.”

Din didn’t say anything for a long while. The weight of Omera’s words settled on his brain.

“You’ll be alright,” she said, turning her attention back to the wash basin.

He hummed in response, running a hand over long, fuzzy ears. The child yawned audibly and Din sighed. “Ca'nara at nuhoy, ad’ika? Did I tire you out?”

Omera glanced over her shoulder and the child had crawled up to lay his tiny head in hollow of the Mandalorian’s collarbone. His eyes were drooping and the small giggles had faded into contented cooing. A gloved hand rubbed small circles into his back and before long the child was asleep.

“You’re very good with him,” Omera said softly, not wanting to wake the kid.

“I’m trying,” Din said after a moment. His voice was filled with emotions she couldn’t read. She believed him. She knew from even his few weeks in the village that he wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge.

“That’s all parenting is: doing your best,” she said, laying another comforting hand on his arm. His visor slid up to meet her gaze and she gave him a warm smile. He nodded and reluctantly pulled away to set the child back in his crib. Omera watched him hesitate at the edge of the bars, clearly not wanting to part. She remembered with a pang of sympathy that the child had only been in his care for a tumultuous few weeks. When Winta was born, she refused to be separated from her daughter for any length of time for months. She couldn’t blame the Mandalorian for not wanting to be away from the little one, even if he was just across the village.

Omera closed the distance between them with a few silent steps.

“I could use some help de-husking the krill. I’ll go grab the baskets and we can work in here, alright?”

The Mandalorian seemed to release his shoulders just a fraction and he nodded without turning around, the child still in his arms.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos; you guys are the sweetest! Keep those suggestions coming, they've definitely been inspiring! This chapter is more centered around the child and the growing bond between them (I almost forgot to add in a clumsy part because I got caught up in the fluff!). Let me know what you think!


	5. a nice catch

The fire crackled in the barn warmly, smoke filtering out the small vent in the ceiling. It had taken some finessing, but Din had rigged a weatherproof hatch for the roof; the nights had a chill in the air, even if the days were still hot. He lounged near the stone pit, enjoying the warmth seeping into his clothes. His beskar was stored neatly near his cot, each piece cleaned with great care.

The trio had taken to spending most evenings together. Sometimes it was the barn and other times Omera’s home, but when they weren’t engaging with the whole village’s evening activities, they found comfort being together in the quiet evening hours. Some nights they were joined by the children, other times Winta and the child found games to play with their friends.

This night was no different. The child busied himself with a small toy, contented gurgles punctuating the conversation around the fire. The three adults sat around the small circle of stones engaged in amicable conversation.

“So, you mean to tell me, that you’ve _never_ had jogan fruit cake?” Cara leaned forward; her exasperated expression warped in the flickering light. Din watched her with an easy laugh.

“What did you want me to do? Stop mid-bounty to grab a slice?” Din quipped, earning him a glove to the helmet.

“Have you?” Cara whipped her head and an almost accusatory finger to Omera.

“I have,” she admitted, turning to Din with a smile. “Its very good.”

“HA,” Cara wheeled back around on Din, finger still outstretched. “Told you. Best dessert in the galaxy.”

“I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it,” Din relented with a shake of his head.

“We’ll get you some,” Cara said, amusement filtering through her words.

“Oh yeah?” Din swiveled his head to regard her with an incredulous look. The women were beginning to be able to read his expression just from his body language.

“It’ll be my next job,” she said laughing as she relaxed back against a bale of hay, stretching her legs out.

“That’s some high paying work, Cara,” joked the Mandalorian with a swat at her boot.

“You’ll give me all your credits and the _Crest_ just for a second slice. It’s _that_ good,” she said,

folding her arms, challenging him to try her again.

“We’ll see,” he chuckled, the sound of the fire swallowing up their dimming laughter. The heat was welcome, and Din reached out his gloved hands to warm his fingers. Being comfortable was almost foreign to him. For what seemed like his whole life he’d been in a constant state of survival by any means. Comfort was a luxury he didn’t want to afford. Most days, he felt undeserving of it. Ever since the kid had waddled his way into his life, his attitude shifted. Not that he felt any more deserving of safety and comfort, but the kid did. He’d give his life for it. Coincidentally, wherever the child was, he was. If the child was safe and comfortable, Din found himself wrapped up in it, too.

He sighed contentedly, bringing his hands back to rest against his chest. He turned to where the child had been playing to see only empty space. His heart started, but just barely as he willed himself to remain calm. Turning his whole upper body, he scanned the entire room, still not finding any trace of the child aside from the discarded toy on the ground. Din stood then, crossing the room in three easy strides, shoulders tensing.

“Ad’ika,” he called, bending to search in the few places he knew the child liked to hide.

“He’s not there?” Omera said, her brow knitting slightly.

“He’s probably just hiding. Don’t worry,” Cara said, her head turning to scan the other side of the room.

“Ad’ika?” Din called again, struggling now to keep his emotions checked. His helmet felt suffocating as checked each place thoroughly.

“Kid?” he heard Cara say, her voice muffled from behind the barrels.

“Little one? Where are you?” Omera was on her feet now, too, joining the search.

“I’m checking outside,” Din said, voice unusually tight and made a beeline for the door. He reached the threshold, but his whole body was pulled away from it before he could duck through. A strangled noise escaped his lips. It felt like an invisible hand had pushed him from the center of his chest. He looked around wildly, arms readied for a fight, but there was no opponent.

“What was that?” Cara’s question was rooted in awe and suspicion.

“Ad’ika?” Din tried again, squaring his shoulders and powering toward the door. Again, as if hands much stronger than he had grabbed his shoulders and slid him further across the dirt floor. He stepped back, mind reeling and turned to face the two women. They stared at him with equal amounts of confusion and shock. In the silence, they heard a small giggle from somewhere deep in the barn. Immediately, it hit him. “It’s the kid. He’s still in here.”

“He can _do_ that?” Cara said, jaw dropping further.

“He’s moved things before,” Din said, flipping on the infrared tracking. He could plot out tiny footprints mixed with three sets of larger ones.

“Yeah, but that was like…krill. You’re…” Cara motioned with her hands. “A bit bigger than a krill.”

“I’m aware,” Din said wryly, still trying to pinpoint the kid’s whereabouts. He was still in the barn, that was for certain. He realized with a start what was happening. The little one was playing, and he hadn’t wanted his opponent to leave the room. “Are you playing a game with me?” he called out, and a loud giggle exploded from somewhere in the back of the barn. The three adults exchanged amused glances, all traces of tension bleeding away.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Omera called, knowing the game well. She used to play it with Winta and frequently sees the children running to hiding places all over the village. They would always include the child, but never let him hide on his own- she had observed. The children were good about following the Mandalorian’s rules, but his own child seemed to have a different idea.

Din snuck on silent feet toward the back of the barn. There were plenty of good hiding places for a child of that size, and Din—ever the fair participant—turned off his tracking. If he was going to win, he’d do so fairly. Even if the child was strong enough to move him, a huge development that he would definitely deal with later, he couldn’t help but indulge the child in a game first.

He swept his eyes over each place, looking for any sign of the child. Instinctively, he held his breath, keeping as silent as he could, listening. The child had settled down, now incredibly quiet. Din could hear the whispers of his companions and the crackle of the fire behind him, but he focused on listening for any clue he could. A box jolted slightly, and he locked eyes on it with a smirk. Quickly, he made his way over, throwing a victorious glance over his shoulder at Omera and Cara as he snatched the box away revealing nothing underneath.

He furrowed his brow and checked the box; it had definitely moved. Nothing was inside the small crate and he huffed, not enjoying the un-suppressed laughter from behind him. He tossed the crate down and turned only to see the child making a run for it. The kid was quiet on his feet, had made it past the cot and was running toward the two women. Din laughed, determined to win, and jogged the length of the barn. Turning, the child squealed at the sight of him, quickening his pace.

Din lunged forward, a bit too zealously and felt his feet lose contact with the ground. He reached his hands out to wrap them around the kid, and braced himself for the soft impact of earth against his unarmored chest, but it didn’t come. Instead, he found himself hovering inches above the floor, the child turned to him with his tiny hands outstretched.

Din’s eyes went wide as he stared, incredulous. It was one thing to be pushed, but to be totally suspended by the child’s strange powers was another thing entirely. He could feel the energy field shifting around him, pulsing through his skin and coursing through his bones. It didn’t hurt, but his whole body tingled, suddenly aware of a force he’d never experienced before. Din couldn’t stop watching the boy; the child’s arms outstretched, shaking slightly with the exertion of holding a fully-grown man in the air. His brow was crinkled in concentration, but a hit of amusement still lingered on his features. Din was so captivated by wonder and awe at the kid’s— _his_ kid’s—abilities, that he didn’t prepare himself to inevitably be dropped.

The Mandalorian hit the ground, the breath knocked from his lungs as the child sat back, exhausted, but pleased. Din scrabbled up to his knees, instinctively, body still thrumming with unknown power. He tried catching his breath and looked to the women standing by the fire.

“ _Kriff_ ,” Cara said, her voice low. Din turned his head at the word, nodding in agreement. The child’s triumphant expression faded, realizing that no one was laughing anymore. Sensing the shift, but not understanding, he looked between the adults, finally settling back on Din. His eyes were wide and concerned, pleading with Din to say something. _Had he hurt his guardian?_

“That’s incredible,” Omera breathed. Din nodded, composure slowly returning.

“He’s stronger than I thought,” he said, at a loss for any helpful words.

“No kidding. That’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” Cara’s words held a wary edge.

“I know,” Din said, with a small shake of his head. The weight of the planet suddenly hung from his shoulders. He was in so much deeper than he had thought, and he already felt like he was drowning most days. “I need to find someone—”

“Boo…” the child, growing restless in uncertainty picked a word he’d remembered his guardian whispering to him when they were alone. He needed his guardian’s attention and reassurance. He hadn’t wanted to hurt him, only garner the light laugh and smile he’d so seldom seen.

“—who can properly train him. That type of power is not something I—”

“Boo…Boo-eer. Buir!” The child’s voice grew louder with each more confident pronunciation. Din’s throat constricted mid-sentence and he whirled to face the child. Tears welled up in large eyes, and small hands outstretched toward Din.

“What?” Din’s voice tipped on the edge of a razor blade. The women cast glances at each other before watching the Mandalorian lean forward on his hands toward the child. “What did you say?” The question was barely audible above the dimming fire.

“Buir…” the child took two tentative steps forward, grabbing the air with his tiny hands. “Buir…”

Din drew in a shaky breath, his whole world pinpointed to only the child in front of him. His heart clenched and his stomach seized. Static seemed to vibrate his limbs as he reached out trembling hands to the small being. He folded the child into his arms with the greatest care he could, melting wholly in the tiny arms that latched around his neck. The weight on his shoulders floated away and threatened to take him into the sky.

“What does that mean?” Omera ventured, hesitant to interrupt. Din released the breath he was holding and sat back on his heals, pulling his arms tighter around the child. She caught Cara’s gaze again, both still unsure of meaning behind Din’s sudden shift in demeanor.

“Um,” Din started, voice thick and heavy. He cleared his throat audibly, “Father. In Mando’a. He’s never—”

“Buir!” the child called; his voice muffled by the fabric around Din’s neck.

“Yes,” Din said, nodding his head. “Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad.” The words were quiet, meant only for the child to hear, but the room was small and the fire smoldering. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

“Buir!” Impossibly, the child burrowed further into Din’s shoulder. The Mandalorian swayed gently, murmuring words of affection. His helmet provided much appreciated cover from the eyes of his friends as a few stray tears rolled down his cheeks. If anyone asked, he would not tell. He stayed like that for what seemed like forever, relishing in the weight of the little one on his chest, lulled by his own steady rocking. It wasn’t until he felt a soft hand on his shoulder did he look up to see Omera’s gentle expression by his side.

“Are you alright?”

Din took a steadying breath and looked down to see the child fast asleep in his arms. Turning back to Omera, he stood and nodded. “Yes.”

“What…?” She trailed off, uncertain of what she was asking. There were a million unanswered questions floating around the room.

“His first word…” Din trailed off.

“Father,” Omera mused, an understanding smile on her lips. “They have a way of knowing what you need to hear.” She motioned to the sleeping bundle in his arms. “I told you, you’re good with him. He agrees, it would seem.”

“Yeah,” Din said, turning to see the soft expression of Cara, bathed in red from the embers of the fire. “I guess he does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there is only minor clumsiness in this chapter- I apologize! I keep getting lured into the trap of character development. Whoops. I promise I'll try to give you some more clumsy!mandalorian in the following chapters, but let me know what you all think! Thank you again for all the lovely feedback, words, and suggestions! You guys really keep me going, so as always, all are welcome!
> 
> If you'd like me to start adding Mando'a translations, let me know!


	6. Secrets

Din had barely gotten to finish the last forkful of his breakfast before a timid knock rapped the door of the barn. He wasn’t sure he’d heard it at all, and he stilled to listen. Small murmurs reached his ears and another knock, only slightly more confident than the last had him reaching for his helmet. He slid the door away and was greeted by ten pairs of wide eyes staring at him from no more four feet off the ground.

He blinked and swept his visor across the small sea of children waiting outside his door, his own child among them.

“Excuse me, Mandol- Mandorli- Manda—”, a child, who looked about eight, stammered the pronunciation.

“Mandalorian,” Din offered gently.

“Yeah. Um. We were wondering if maybe you could teach us a word in…uh…”, the child whipped around to Winta, who stood behind him and coaxed him forward with a whisper. “Mando’a.”

Din’s brow furrowed and tried to understand what was going on. The children started to whisper in his silence, unsure of what the man before them would do.

“A word?” Din asked, thoroughly confused at the request.

“Yeah!” A second child piped up, and the rest nodded in agreement. Their eyes were wide, looking to the Mandalorian with anticipation.

“Any word in particular?” Din stalled, still unsure of the children standing in front of his door. He quickly scanned beyond their heads, quietly suspicious that Dune had somehow put them up to this, but he saw no one other than a few other villagers heading to the hall to get a late breakfast.

“Anything you want!” The children all huddled closer, his legs almost trapped by the small bodies. They were so eager; he couldn’t find it in his heart to disappoint them. He had always had a soft spot for children. Even the foundlings at the covert had a special place in his heart. He kept a small collection of little gifts they had given him over the years tucked away in the _Crest_ —a particularly smooth stone, a small coil, a piece of fabric with a crudely drawn mythosaur stained into it. They’d gift him their tiny treasures with such excitement and he’d whisper to them his fervent gratitude, even if it meant chuckles at his expense by the other, older Mandalorians.

“Oya,” Din said, before he could stop himself. The children’s eyes went wide and they began whispering it. Din shook his head and quieted them. “It’s a cheer. It’s like saying…hooray.”

The children continued to stare at him expectantly and he realized they were waiting for a demonstration. He sighed quietly, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Oya!” he shouted, a fist in the air emphatically. Some children jumped, startled by the sudden and very unexpected volume from the village’s quietest man. Smiles began spreading and the child in front of Winta jumped up, fist in the air like Din, and shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Oya!” After that, it was like an avalanche. Ten small voices all began shouting. Din watched, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter as the children rushed off through the village yelling their new word to each other. He sighed again, suddenly unsure of how the village elders would appreciate their children learning the language of the warrior they were still so skeptical about. Quickly, he tried to shrug the thought away and grabbed his rifle from the barn; he had patrolling to do.

**

The village was bustling when Din returned from patrol. Villagers were chatting happily as they carried chairs, benches and other various items toward the hall. A small crowd was gathered outside, tacking up what looked like decorations in the doorway. The smell in the air was unlike anything he’d ever experienced and his stomach was rumbling in anticipation.

Din took one last look over his shoulder before heading into the barn. He hadn’t heard of any upcoming holiday or event in the town gossip. Not that he particularly entertained the town gossip, but generally he heard a few more things than he’d like from the loose-lipped denizens of Sorgan.

The barn was quiet and a chill had begun to creep into the air as the sun slipped behind the tree line. He contemplated making a fire, but it seemed too early for that. Instead, he vaguely attempted to tidy the small space. It took all of a minute and Din found himself standing in the center of the makeshift room, lips pursed. His mind wandered back to the hall, but he shook the thought away. If there was a celebration or holiday Sorgan observed, then he would leave them to it. No sense barging in on something he wasn’t invited to.

He took to cleaning his weapons; a surefire way to refocus himself. The methodical motions were soothing, but he found his mind only wandering back to the preparations he saw. Lost in thought, he caught his finger as he was reassembling his rifle. With a curse, he shook his hand and his head at his lack of focus. Slamming the pieces back together with more force than strictly necessary, he turned his attention to his hand which throbbed with his heartbeat.

Sighing, he peeled his glove off and surveyed the finger. There was a small cut, the skin around the knuckle already swelling with a dark bruise. He tested the joint and pain shot down his entire hand. A long string of curses in both Mando’a and Standard pushed through his gritted teeth as he hefted himself up and began searching for something to wrap it in.

“Well that sounds good,” Cara said, stepping through the open door. Din grunted in response, not stopping his current task. He slid the glove back over his hand with some effort and tested the joint again. Stiff. He huffed his frustration, but knew it was necessary to heal properly. It wasn’t the first time he’d broken a finger and it wouldn’t be his last. Especially if he insisted on being so absentminded.

“What’d you do?” Cara asked, coming around the small table to see what he was doing.

“Broke my finger,” he grumbled. “It’s fine.”

“Alright, then,” she said, giving him a look of mild bewilderment. He stayed silent as he swung his rifle off the table and made to duck back out the door. He needed to get out of the barn and away from the village, maybe that would clear his head.

“Where are you going?” Cara said, catching his arm.

“Full of questions today,” he mumbled, pulling his arm from her grasp.

“Alright fine, but if you leave, you’ll have about a dozen apologies to make,” she called after him. That halted him.

“What?”

“I’m not supposed to say anything, but just,” she sighed, a small smile dancing around her eyes. “Don’t leave.”

As if on cue, a small group of children rounded the corner of the barn and locked eyes with the adults. They stopped, bumping into each other and looked back and forth between Cara and Din.

“Are you leaving for patrol?” One finally pipped up. Din recognized him as the child leading the group that morning.

“I was, yes,” he said flatly, visor still trained in Cara’s direction.

“But you just got back! I saw you!” A little girl all but shouted and then covered her mouth quickly. The other stared at her, wide-eyed, before training their gazes back to the Mandalorian. Din sighed, hoping it wasn’t audible through his helmet’s speakers.

“Do you need something?” he relented, turning to face the small group. The little boy turned and a small shuffling punctuated pointed whispers. They all fell silent again and the small boy folded his hands behind his back and approached the Mandalorian.

“We made this for you,” he said, holding out a small card. Din took it carefully and read the scribbled words. It was an invitation—the outside covered in words like _welcome_ and _invited_ , the inside a group-effort drawing of him and all the children of the village, even his own (though he hardly suspected the child did his own drawing since it actually looked somewhat like him). “We hope you can come tonight. We wanted to surprise you.”

Din opened his mouth to say something, but no words came. He stared at the card, turning it over in his hands. It felt so familiar yet so wholly new. These weren’t the Clan’s foundlings; these were strangers’ children so eagerly welcoming him into their home. 

“If you need to leave, though, its okay…” the boy had taken a step backward, unsure of what the Mandalorian’s silence meant. Din snapped himself back from his thoughts and knelt to be eye-level with the boy.

“What’s your name?” Din said, training his visor toward the boy.

“Avin,” the boy said, eyes roaming over his helmet and armor. He was fascinated.

“I’ll be there, Avin,” he said, looking down to the card in his hands. “Thank you. I’ll keep this somewhere safe.”

Avin’s whole face lit up and Din’s heart warmed his chest. The boy bounded back over the group who murmured excitedly among themselves. They began to run back toward the hall and Din stood watching them go. Avin suddenly turned and put a fist in the air. “Oya!”

Din managed a broken “Oya!” though the genuine laugh that bubbled from his chest. Cara turned to him in amusement, eyebrow quirked.

“Oya?”

“The kids cornered me this morning and asked to know a word in Mando’a,” Din supplied, returning to the barn to stow his weapon.

“What’s it mean?”

“It’s a cheer,” he supplied, smile still aching into his cheeks. “Like, ‘hooray’ or something.”

She nodded with an appraising smile and motioned toward him.

“After you, Guest of Honor,” she chided. They fell into step beside each other as they made the short trek to the hall.

“I don’t think it’s like that,” he dismissed, a wave of his hand.

“You wanna bet?” she challenged lightly as the warm firelight spilled from the hall doors to illuminate the path. “This may be a surprise for you, but they’ve been telling me about it all week.”

Cara and Din strode into the hall and all heads turned to look at them. The fire was roaring and the entire room was bathed in orange glow. One side of the hall had a large table filled with various dishes, each more appetizing than the last. On the other side, there was what Din could only describe as a small stage, benches all facing the playing area that was covered by lofted flower garlands. Din started as cheers erupted from the crowd, not entirely comfortable with how many eyes were trained in his direction. He looked to Cara, but she seemed just as surprised as he did.

Omera approached them with another villager by her side, each with a long garland of braided flowers in their arms. Her smile was brilliant.

“Welcome,” she said, the warmth in her voice bringing a smile to Din’s lips. Omera lifted the garland and placed it around his shoulders. The flowers were sweet and unlike anything Din had ever seen before; their colors were vibrant and mesmerizing. He looked up to see Cara had a similar garland hanging from her shoulders.

“Is this all for _us_?” Cara gaped, taking the end of the string in her hand and admiring the flowers.

“We have this celebration every year, to mark the closing of one season and the birth of the next. The children came up with the idea to have you two as our guests of honor after all that you’ve done for our village. Everyone agreed,” Omera explained, the guests behind her slowly returning to last minute preparations.

“But, I thought it was just him,” Cara insisted, gesturing at Din. “The kids wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“The children here are _very_ good at keeping secrets from those they want to,” Omera said, her smile growing wider and her brow quirking knowingly.

“No kidding,” Din said, not without a small hint of awe as he rand his gloved hand along the flowers. “I didn’t even know there was anything happening today until I came back from patrol.”

“As I said,” Omera said with a small laugh and gestured for them to follow her into the throng of people now socializing together.

“Where are they? The children,” Din asked, visor scanning the crowd, but there was no sign of any of the children, let alone his.

“They’re getting ready,” Omera said coyly over her shoulder. He glanced to Cara, who merely smirked and pointedly looked away from him. Something about that made him vaguely uneasy; the kids were up to something and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out what.

The trio walked through the crowd toward the food tables, Cara immediately filling a plate with something from each of the trays. He declined when offered, as usual, but the elder serving the dishes—the same from his morning meal routine—leaned in to whisper that she’d already pulled the best of each plate and set it aside in the oven to keep warm whenever he was ready for it. He thanked her, more earnestly than each morning, and she gave him a knowing wink.

A small commotion of cheers and clapping hands near the stage had them turning their attention across the hall. Omera and Cara quickly shared a glance and another smirk before ushering Din over to the front of the benches. Din noticed everyone else taking seats around them and speaking in hushed tones. Before he had the chance to ask what was happening, Cara slapped his leg. When he turned to her, she just pointed toward the stage where Avin stood to address the crowd.

“Welcome everyone to the Equinox Celebration!” His little voice echoed off the walls as he shouted above the crowd. Everyone cheered but quieted quickly at his raised hands. “As tradition says, the children have created our pageant about the events of the year. Please enjoy and thank you to our guests of honor for coming to our celebration!”

He turned and scampered offstage to the sound of the villages’ loud approval. Several whispers could be heard from offstage. Small, handmade set pieces were pushed on and the stage quickly filled with the children of the village rushing to places.

Din looked over at Cara who just gave him a side-eye glance and a smirk. So, _this_ was the big secret, he thought. At first, he couldn’t tell what he was watching the children do—they seemed to be all eating or drinking and they murmured quietly to each other. He scanned the stage and found Winta dressed inexplicably like Cara, copying her signature seated position with her boots hoisted up on the makeshift table.

Then, with all the grace of a blurg, a child—who he could only assume was Avin as he was the only one missing from the scene—burst in the door covered in reed-woven armor, complete with a helmet and the Child in tow. Din’s eyes went wide as he realized they were doing their best approximation of his first day on Sorgan, according to Cara. His jaw dropped and he could hear both Cara and Omera giggle on either side of him as he sat forward.

The movement of his armor caught the little one’s attention and huge eyes turned to pick him out of the crowd. He made a small chirp and waved to Din. He sighed lightly, a smile creeping up to his face and offered a small wave back before pointing toward the scene on the stage trying to redirect the Child’s attention. With another trill, the Child turned back around just in time for the brawl to begin between him and Cara.

He watched half-embarrassed, half-enthralled as the children recreated small scenes from his and Cara’s time on Sorgan, clearly tailored by which adult they had wrangled the stories from. From agreeing to help the villagers and training, to the battle and the cleanup, the play was a complete saga. Eventually, the children all scuttled offstage and the crowd exploded into cheering and applause. The adults had been perfect audience members, clearly having years of experience in the matter. As quickly as they had run off, one by one they all returned giving small bows at the front of the playing space. Din couldn’t help but smile when his little one came out in Winta’s arms and gave him a toothy smile and wave.

Avin was the last to bow, after which, Din found himself being leveled by a haphazardly shaped visor before the boy spoke again.

“Can we have the guests of honor join us onstage?” The children all turned to give expectant looks in Cara and the Mandalorian’s direction. Din drew in a slow breath and Cara leaned forward a few inches to whisper across him to Omera.

“I didn’t know _this_ was part of the show,” she hissed, giving a soft glare for good measure.

“I had some secrets of my own to keep,” Omera said coyly with a grin.

“Fine…” Cara said before standing up and gesturing for Din to follow. He sighed, immediately feeling his body tense slightly—he was never good with crowds. With one look at the small sea of faces on the stage, he had no choice but to steel his own anxiety. Din stood and they both crossed the few feet between the front row and the small platform. Cara stepped up and the entire room began to fill with more celebrating. Din stepped up next.

At least, he tried to.

His boot slipped off the edge before he could get the other up to balance himself and began to tip backward precariously. One of the young girls gasped and covered her mouth. Suddenly all eyes in the room locked onto the tumbling Mandalorian.

Cara spun around just in time to grab one of Din’s hands and pull him up hard. Unfortunately, Cara was stronger than either of them anticipated and Din crashed forward taking her with him. They hit the stage with a loud crack and the clatter of metal.

Din and Cara sat up almost in unison to the realization that the entire room was so quiet a dropped pin would be heard. Their flower garlands were half smushed, leaves and petals strewn across the stage. They locked eyes and Din held his breath, hoping Cara would come up with some smooth way to redirect the attention of the entire village.

She said nothing, but one voice rang out, shattering the silence and the tension.

“Oya!” Avin’s call was quickly echoed by the entire gathering of children behind him. The adults all cheered in response, some even repeating the phrase. The room erupted and the children took the opportunity to swarm the two warriors sitting on the ground. The Child was deposited on his lap and looked up at him with a toothy grin. His embarrassment slowly ebbed away as the Child giggled.

Slowly, Din rose and helped Cara to her feet, his throbbing finger not going unnoticed. Cara had unknowingly grabbed his broken finger in her attempt to stop his fall, but he tried to ignore it as Avin turned to face the crowd again.

“Tonight we celebrate our guests of honor and the new season!” Avin shouted with an air of finality. The crowd lurched into movement and the children all hopped off the front of the stage to rush to their families. Winta bounded over to Omera, crashing into her outstretched arms. Din strode to the front of the stage, intent to jump off, but Cara caught his shoulder.

“Careful there,” she said, her tone serious but the quirk of her lips betraying her. Din huffed and shook her hand off as he jumped down. The Child babbled loudly as the two joined Omera, carrying on a full conversation of his own. Din’s chest rumbled with quiet laughter as wide eyes looked at him expectantly.

“You did good up there,” Din said, smile radiating through his words. The child squealed and began babbling again.

“Did you like it?” Winta’s voice carried over the hum of the crowd. Her eyes were glancing between Din and Cara. They answered at the same time.

“That was some of the best theater I’ve ever seen,” Cara said, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“I did.”

Winta’s eyes lit up and she dashed away through the crowd. The three remaining adults had just enough time to share a confused glance before she returned, Avin in tow.

“They really liked it! See? You tell him!” Winta crowed, giving Avin a reassuring push toward Cara and Din.

“Yeah?” He said, his voice quiet. The reed-woven helmet was still tucked under his arm and he nervously picked at the edges. Din knelt and placed a gentle hand on Avin’s shoulders.

“Very good job,” he said before leaning in, whispering just loud enough for the boy to hear. “And thank you for saving us up there.”

Avin beamed, his eyes sparkling in the warm firelight. Something shifted quickly, and his expression edged with something more serious. “We wanted to thank you for everything.” He paused. “ _I_ wanted to thank you for everything. We’re safe because of you.”

Something in Din’s chest panged and his throat constricted. He really did have a soft spot for children. He also couldn’t shake the feeling that the village wasn’t as safe as it could be as long as he stayed. No matter how many times the villagers encouraged him to stay, he knew he would leave. Eventually he would have to, whether he wanted to or not.

Before he could respond, small arms wrapped around him. He barely registered they were there before Avin retreated and slid over to do the same to Cara, who was equally as surprised. Avin smiled again before waving and darting back toward his family. Din watched as he was lifted in the air by his father and placed on large, broad shoulders.

He watched them begin to weave through the crowd and stood lost in thought before realizing the Child was babbling one coherent word over and over again.

“Oya, oya, oya…” Din turned his visor to watch the kid in his arms wriggle around. He noticed he was being watched, but that only spurred him to say the word louder.

“Yeah?” Din said, smile spreading slowly. He ran a hand over a fuzzy ear before hoisting him up to rest against his shoulder. “C’mere you little womp rat.”

“Thank you for playing along. It meant the world to them,” Omera said, turning her attention to Cara and Din.

“I didn’t mind,” Cara said, shrugging. “Plus, someone’s gotta look out for this one. Mando’s a clutz.” She threw a punch into Din’s bicep.

“I am not,” Din said defensively, shifting the Child to his good hand. “And you grabbed my broken finger, so thanks for that.”

“You broke your finger? Doing what?” Omera’s eyebrows laced together in concern, but Cara bulldozed right through it.

“Oh sure,” she spat, gearing up for a battle. “Next time I save you from falling on your ass, I’ll make sure to ask if I’m grabbing the right hand. On second thought, next time—and you’ve proven there _will_ be a next time—I’ll just let you fall.”

“There won’t be a next time, so don’t worry yourself,” he said, cocking his helmet toward Cara, daring her to continue.

“You sure? Pretty sure I’ve heard _that_ one before…” Cara trailed off, mocking deep thought.

“Cara,” Din warned, knowing where she intended to take this jab and he didn’t like it.

“Oh, that’s right!” she said, eyeing him with gleeful victory.

“Hey!” he shifted, quickly glancing at Omera, but before he could do anything Cara hammered the last nail in place.

“It was on the way back into town after you tripped, of your own accord, off a cliff, into a pond.” Cara’s smile was smug as she crossed her arms.

“You fell off a cliff?” Omera, whipped her head to stare at Din.

“It was a small ledge,” he placated, not without tossing a glare in Cara’s direction. Visor or not, she just laughed.

“Cliff.”

“It was not—Cara—It was fine.”

“You fell into water? In your armor?” Omera was incredulous and Din couldn’t help but feel like he’d been ratted out to a parent. Cara was really going push him over the edge one day.

“Yes.”

“Can you even swim in that? Can you swim at all?”

“Why do you think his helmet’s speaker was busted for two days? Cara said, arms still crossed triumphantly.

“It was shallow,” he offered, silently wishing to the stars they could stop talking about this. It was embarrassing enough that it happened, but he thought he’d never have to bring it up again.

“And you!” Omera turned to Cara, who started at the sudden turn of attention. “Did you even help him, or did you just stand there and laugh?”

“ _What_? No, I—” Cara, blindsided, stuttered. Din watched in awe as Omera began to turn Cara’s joke around on her. She kept it up for a few minutes, feigning anger, until Omera’s smile cracked and Din found himself chuckling at the look on Cara’s face.

“Are you kidding?” Cara said, dropping her hands to slap the sides of her legs.

“If you want to act like bickering siblings, then you’ll be treated like it,” Omera said, crossing her arms, her expression dancing with amusement.

Din raised his visor, and let out one soft, “ha”. Truth be told, he couldn’t help himself. Cara landed a rough punch to the exposed part of his arm and rolled her eyes.

The celebration continued around them, people spending the evening laughing and chatting with each other. The children played happily, racing through the adults scattered around the hall. The fire made long shadows dance across the walls. Eventually Din excused himself to take the plate of food back to the barn with promises he’d return when he had finished. As he walked into the brisk evening air, he gazed up at the curling smoke with the stars as its backdrop. He sighed, unable to ignore the conflict pressing at the edges of his mind.

It was clear to him when he came that he couldn’t stay on Sorgan. Now, though, the temptation to stay was stronger than ever. The Child was thriving; that much was for certain. It was clear he felt safe and comfortable. He had a group of children that adored him to play with and learn from. It would be cruel to pull him away from that. A child deserved to be safe—that much Din knew from experience.

He also couldn’t ignore the fact that he was more relaxed than he’d been in recent memory. It felt like a step below the covert. Sure, the villagers couldn’t offer him protection like the covert could, but community was something he was never conscious that he missed. He’d been on his own for so long that he’d just accepted it as a fact of his life. Befriending two incredible women, a horde of children, and gaining the respect of an entire village enough for them to honor him at their annual celebration had not been on his radar. He hadn’t expected the difficulty of choosing between what his head told him was right and what his heart told him was right, either.

His dinner had long been finished and he sighed, replacing his helmet and crossing back to the hall. He had a lot to think about in the days to come, but he decided to put that off until tomorrow. One night of indulging in friendship and celebration wouldn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I apologize for the long gap between updates. I had half this chapter written, didn't like it, decided to rewrite it, couldn't think of anything else, got frustrated, reread it, checked my anxiety, and realized I didn't mind it as much as I did in the beginning lol 
> 
> Second of all, THANK YOU all for all the love and encouragement. I reread all the comments this week, it really brings me such joy and a smile to my face and I very much needed it this past week. You are all just the best!
> 
> Third of all, I've probably spelled Sorgan incorrectly every other time I write it, so please excuse that and any other errors. I really am a poor editor lol
> 
> Finally, as usual, comments, kudos, thoughts, encouragement, suggestions are all very VERY (emphasis on the very) welcome and appreciated beyond words. Thank you again, all! Hopefully the next chapter won't be as long! Let me know, also, if you're interested in keeping this fluffy and light or adding in just a few sprinkles of angst; drop it in the comments!


	7. an outing

The sunlight filtered through the trees, dappling intricate patterns onto the rippling surface of the small pool of water. Din had thought to return to the secluded grove ever since he and Cara had first found it. It was far enough from the village that no one would wander over accidentally, but close enough that it wasn’t an inconvenience. He could run back within minutes if there was danger.

With the weeks of picturesque days behind them, it was hard to imagine there had ever been a battle in the village at all. The scars left in the earth by the ravagers had already begun healing; thick grass sprouting from the dirt. The scraps of the walker were tended to and the krill ponds were being nursed back to full health. Din had tried not to drop his guard too far, there was still danger lurking everywhere- especially for him and the kid. There was no telling who would be after them now.

The morning hadn’t even peered over the horizon when he woke. It was still quiet as he quickly dressed and put his armor on piece by piece. The village had not stirred yet. He gathered the still sleeping child in one arm and a small bag with the other and set out. In the evening, he’d told Cara where he’d be so that no one worried, or worse, came looking for him. She’d joked that if he wasn’t back by noon she would come after him- he couldn’t be trusted not to fall in again. He had huffed at that, but knew she was trustworthy enough to keep any potential prying eyes away.

Din took off his glove and ran his fingers through the water. It was sun-warmed and crystal clear. He sighed lightly with a smile; this was something he had looked forward to.

The child stirred in his arm and blinked up at him with wide eyes.

“Good morning,” Din greeted, stroking his ungloved finger along the child’s ear. It earned him a sleepy coo and he chuckled. The child turned over, snuggling into his chest plate as best he could manage. Din exhaled. “No, c’mon you little punk. Its time to get up. Look around.”

Din picked up the child, ignoring the small squeak of protest. The child immediately started squirming to be let down as he took in the surroundings. Din obliged, allowing the child to investigate the water’s edge. He set down the bag and his glove, keeping an eye on the child as he seated himself near the shallow end of the pool. Slowly, he began to remove his armor- each piece being set carefully on the soft grass. The child paid him no mind at first, content to run around chasing the small bugs that flew around. It wasn’t until he stood, nearly stripped, that the child turned to look at his guardian. Din made his way over to the water, his soft under layers and the small bag tucked under his arm. The child squawked, earning the gaze of the t-visor as he had hoped.

Din smiled and scooped the kid up as he walked past, wading into the water. It was deeper than it was when he’d been here with Cara. The water would now be over his head if he were standing near the small waterfall. He elected, instead, to stay near the edge of the basin for now. The child was fascinated by the water, straining in Din’s firm hold to reach down. Tossing the contents of his other arm onto the mossy ledge, he leaned his head down and removed his helmet.

The child, who had been vocally protesting the fact that Din wouldn’t let him touch the water, quieted. His eyes searched Din’s face as he reached up. Din dipped his head down, allowing the contact and smiling as the child gurgled happily. It had been a while since the child had last seen him, he realized. Small claws dragged upward over his stubble over and over as the child eyed it curiously. His small head tipped side to side inquisitively. Din chuckled and removed the hands as he reached down to undo the child’s robes.

By the time it was tossed up alongside his own clothes, the child had dug his claws into Din’s arm trying to wriggle out of his hold.

“Alright, alright. I get it,” he said, shifting his hold on the child to be able to dip him slowly into the water. The child squealed in delight, kicking his small feet every time they dipped below the surface. Din laughed at the child’s wonder, slowly dunking him further and further into the water. Eventually, he slid under himself, and he pushed away from the basin’s edge to float across the top of the water- the child perched on his chest.

“Buir!” The tiny voice shouted in wonder, steadied from the movement by Din’s hand on his back.

“Yes?” Din said coolly, running his other hand through the water to gently steer them toward the shallow end of the basin.

“Buir! Buir!” The child giggled happily.

“That’s me,” he said, unable to keep the smile from his face. That small exchange was something new for them. It had been repeated for the past few days, the child giggling every time Din responded in factual aloofness to child’s call to him. The child saw Din’s expression and mirrored it tenfold. They floated around the small pond for a while, Din content to watch the child wriggle around excitedly. Eventually, he nestled the kid back in the crook of his arm as he waded over to where their clothes were. As much as it was meant to be a fun trip for the kid, it was also necessary chore. Bathing regularly needed to take a fair amount of priority where a child was involved, and their clothes had desperately needed a wash as well.

He set the child on the small ledge as he reached over to the bag that contained two soaps- one for their clothes and one for them-, a towel, and a blade. No sooner did he have the soap and the small robe in hand did the child let out a small yell. Din turned quickly enough to lunge a hand underneath the small body that had fallen from the edge into the water.

“Kid!” With his heart in throat, he set the child down and quickly began scanning him for any sign of injury. The child just tried to wriggle away from his ministrations. Din began whispering to him comfortingly in Mando’a as the child began to cry…

Din’s hands stilled as he realized the child was not crying at all. He was giggling. It hit him at once- the kid hadn’t fallen into the basin, _he jumped._

“Are you kidding me?” he asked no one in particular. The child responded with an enthusiastic, “ah!” which had Din drawing his lips into a thin line. So much for a calm day at the pond.

“You cannot jump into this water,” Din said, holding his hand out to keep the child from the water. He tried to pick up the robe and soap again with his free hand, but the child darted from his grasp and made a beeline for the edge again.

Din reached out and snatched the kid from the air, pulling him into his chest.

“What did I just say?” Din said, his stern voice only being met with laughter. He huffed as he hefted the child back up onto the ledge, knowing he was on the losing side of the battle. The child eyed Din mischievously as he backed away a step into the water, no longer giving admonishment. Din watched as he was sized up by large eyes trying to gauge how much trouble he’d be in if he jumped again. There was a still moment as they both waited for the other to make a move.

Din relented first, reaching his hands out in an invitation. Maybe, he thought, allowing the kid to do something safely would contain the small streak of rebelliousness. The child’s eyes lit up in understanding and he leapt from the edge to Din’s hands. There was a small splash as the child hit the water, but Din’s hands broke most of the fall and were quick to place him back on the edge.

The game had begun, and Din couldn’t help himself from smiling and laughing along with the kid. His joy was contagious. They played in the water for a while before the child held tightly to Din’s arm with droopy eyes. With a small huff of laughter, Din smiled and cuddled him close before grabbing the soap meant for them. Within minutes, the child had drifted off to sleep as Din took to washing him. He carefully scrubbed little claws and big ears, trying not to jostle the sleeping kid awake. Quickly, Din wrapped the child up in the towel and placed him on the soft moss, an arm’s reach away.

With the child quiet, Din quickly turned his attention to focus on the chores. He scrubbed their clothes as clean as he could- his own causing much more of a problem than the child’s. Dried blood and dirt were hard to scrub clean, but he did his best and they were left smelling much fresher than when he’d started. A quick glance told him that the child was still sound asleep in the small patch of sunlight and Din cleaned himself next, relishing in the feeling of being free of dirt and sweat for the first time in a while. He vowed to come here as often as he could while he was still on Sorgan. Being clean was not something he had the luxury of all the time, especially while he was working, so he found great pleasure in the times he could be. He’d sharpened the blade he used for shaving the previous night in anticipation of their trip, so Din made quick work of it. He was used to shaving without a mirror. His skin was smooth under his fingers as he washed away any last traces of soap.

With the clothes laid out to dry and his own bathing taken care of, he sighed contentedly and allowed his body to float on the water’s surface again. The sun felt like a warm embrace and he closed his eyes, taking in the feeling of the cool water rushing over warmed flesh as he bobbed on the water. Not for the first time, he found himself wanting to stay on this planet forever, locked in blissful ignorance of the dangers no doubt waiting for them. His mind wandered, musing over recent events. His thoughts drifted to the covert- if they were alright and if they had regrouped elsewhere. They’d risked everything for him and a foundling they’d never met, and he owed them everything for it. He tried to imagine bringing the child to them- his clan- and how they would react. His emotions swirled. He wanted to believe they’d accept him into their clan as any other foundling would be, but he couldn’t get the strange prickling sensation of the child’s power out of his body. Would they refuse the child? Would they refuse him?

So lost in thought, he hadn’t heard the silent footsteps of the child sneaking toward the soft, sandy incline to the shallow end of the pool. He glanced up in the direction of where he’d left his child only to be met with an empty towel. In a panic, he stood, water sloshing loudly. The child made a loud chirp of surprise from his seated position in the shallow waters. The small waves from Din’s movement pushed water up around the child’s stomach and over his legs.

Din hefted a sigh of relief, both at finding the child so quickly and the fact that he apparently had enough awareness to not enter the water without Din there to supervise. He moved toward the child, who watched in curiosity, but that look slowly faded into something else. Something Din recognized.

“Hey,” he started, but before he could even think about what he was going to say next, the kid dashed in the opposite direction as fast as he could. Din blinked once before rushing out of the water after him. “Hey! Get back here!”

The child took to this game like every other, running full speed away from Din with loud laughter. Normally Din wouldn’t mind indulging the child, however a naked game of chase in the middle of the woods was not on his to-do list today. Nor any day, for that matter.

The child skittered away from him, giggling all the while at his attempts to stop him. Din uttered curses in Standard and Mando’a as the child dodged him again. He huffed and quickly looked around just to make sure no one was watching- though at this point he wasn’t sure anything could be done about his honor if someone had been looking.

The child was now running directly toward him and Din lunged, trying to snatch him up. Instead, his foot landed squarely in the moss, slick from where the kid had been jumping into the basin earlier. Before he could even think, his foot was in the air and he had tumbled backward. Water rushed up around his ears disorienting him. He sucked in a breath only to be greeted with the painful assault of water in his throat. Reaching out with his feet, he made to stand, but the ground wasn’t where he assumed it would be. His lungs burned and he flipped around, trying to right himself. Suddenly, his body tingled in a familiar way and his mind went straight to the child. He felt the water moving by his body and his head finally broke the surface. Immediately he began coughing, trying to rid his lungs of the water. The tingling continued and he felt the edge of the basin bump his side. He reached out to steady himself with one hand, the other he used to push water-logged hair from his face. He continued coughing, unable to take a deep breath without inducing another fit.

Wiping the water from his eyes, he looked up only to see a wide, concerned stare from above him. The child searched his face, his little claw extended toward him, still holding him hovering in the water. Din reached out and took the tiny hand in his and he felt his feet slowly sink into the soft mud. The child cooed, trying to gain his attention. Din obliged, still coughing painfully. He tried to offer a small smile of reassurance as he attempted in vain to control his breathing.

The child’s eyes welled with tears and he pulled his hand from Din’s. Again, he reached out, this time with both hands on either side of Din’s face. A warmth spread through his body, unlike anything he’d ever felt before and he closed his eyes in preparation for something worse. The heat intensified, but not painfully- he noted. Just as fast as it came on, the heat subsided, and he took a deep, gasping breath as he snapped his eyes open. The pain in his lungs was gone. He tested another breath, sure it would bring about another round of coughing, but it didn’t come. Air passed through gently and he furrowed his brown in confusion.

“Buir?” The word was tentative and whispered. Din snapped his gaze back to the little one, staring at him with such concern it made his heart hurt.

“I’m alright, ad’ika,” he murmured comfortingly, still in shock. This kid never ceased to surprise him. Just when he thought he’d seen all he could do, something new surfaces. He reached out to take the child in his arms, but he shied away from his hands.

“Buir…” the child whimpered, scooting away from Din’s hands further, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Ad’ika, come here. It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault,” Din pleaded, his chest constricting at the child’s protests. He pulled himself up to reach further around the child.

“Buir! No!” The child cried, using his strange power to gently push Din away from him. Din’s expression crumbled, not even able to relish in the new word the child used. He put his hands up placatingly, not wanting to agitate him further.

“Alright. Okay…” Din ventured. He pulled himself out of the water completely and moved over to the abandoned towel. Once he was dry, he dressed in his under layers and held the robe in his hand.

“K’olar ad’ika,” Din said softly, kneeling to the child’s level. Tears spilled over small green cheeks and Din’s heart flopped in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to pull the child close and whisper every reassurance he could think of.

“No,” the child ventured, watery eyes still not quite meeting his guardian’s. Din sighed slowly.

“ _Please_.” The child hesitated, thinking through his decision before silently plodding over, ears pressed back tight to his head. Din quickly dressed him and before he could protest, scooped the child into a hug. He squirmed at first, wriggling desperately. Din shushed him, running a gentle hand over his back. Soon the jostling stilled, and Din could only feel the staggered breathing between tears. “It’s alright. You don’t have to cry, little one.”

“Buir.” The word was muffled by Din’s shirt firmly placed in the child’s mouth.

“Yes?” Din said, tone tempting lightness. He hoped the child would recognize their verbal game. There was a long silence and Din just waited. Eventually, the child shifted to look at Din’s face, tears slowing their crawl.

“Buir…” he ventured, watching Din’s reaction.

“That’s me,” he smiled softly, hoping the child would understand. Small hands flew upward toward Din’s face. Without hesitation, he allowed the small claws to hold his jaw. Whatever he could do to bring comfort to his child, he would do it. There was no reason the child should feel guilty for his own clumsiness. He spoke reassurances softly as he cradled the child in the crook of his neck. With his free arm, he gathered the rest of their things back into to small bag and shuffled back over to the pile of beskar waiting on the shore.

He tossed the bag aside and sat down, balancing the kid with one supportive hand on his back as he got on as much of his armor as he could without both hands.

“I have to put you down, ad’ika,” he murmured, placing him gently on the ground. The kid clung to his leg as Din secured the rest of his armor, and the moment he had two free hands, demanded to be held again. Din obliged quickly, nestling him in his arm. Without thinking, he placed a small kiss to the top of the child’s fuzzy head and reached for his helmet.

The child’s ears unfurled from their pressed position to quirk up at the show of affection. A small and tentative laugh had Din turning back around. The child looked up at him, expectant. The corner of Din’s mouth pulled into a smirk.

“What?”

“Buir,” the child responded, as if he wasn’t saying the same word over and over again. Even so, Din felt like he could hear only that word for the rest of time, and he wouldn’t ever complain.

“Hm?” Din said, playing dumb to the child’s obvious request.

“Buir.” One claw tapped between big green ears.

“Oh,” Din drawled out, performatively. He leaned down and gave another kiss to the top of the kid’s head. Giggles erupted immediately and Din repeated the gesture again before dissolving into blowing raspberries instead. That earned him loud laughter, a balm to his tense chest. He tickled the kid’s sides for good measure before he sat back laughing. Din sighed once more before donning his helmet and gathering their belongings.

“You have to promise me one thing, though, ad’ika,” Din said, turning his visor down to meet the child’s curious eyes. “Do _not_ tell Cara Dune that I fell into the pond again. That’s between you and me, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations
> 
> K'olar - Come here  
> Ad'ika - child/little one  
> Buir - parent/father
> 
> Hello again everyone! Thank you again for all your kind and sweet words, you are all truly the best! If I haven't responded to your comments, please know I've seen them and I will try to get to them all soon! Again, I apologize for the slow upload; I've really been uninspired lately- I can't wait for the next season to get me back on full speed. Again, all comments, kudos, suggestions, art, anecdotes, etc. etc. are welcome, encouraged and very and truly from the bottom of my heart appreciated! I'll probably end up going back through and editing slightly, so apologies in advance for any mistakes!


	8. say what you mean

Din huffed and pounded his hand on the panel above his head. He’d spent the morning combing through the _Razor Crest_ , tending to general repairs and giving it an overall sweep for efficiency and cleanliness. It had been a while since it had flown, and he figured a small tune up would be in his best interest. They’d leave eventually, and he didn’t want to have to make unnecessary repair stops if he could tend to the issues while they were small. It had been going well so far; nothing was so bad that a little persuasion couldn’t fix it. At the end of his sweep, though, he’d found some rewiring that needed his attention.

Although he was no mechanic, Din was apt enough to figure out how to fix most things on his ship- unless it was inconveniently tucked away in a panel that had him straining backwards while poking around mostly blind at very live wires. At that point, it was by sheer stubbornness that Din found himself lying half underneath the cockpit’s control panel with his shoulders aching from fatigue. He darted one hand out, patting the area near his hip for the wire cutter. One more snip and reconnection should do the trick.

The child had been content to occupy himself, happily babbling to Din and inspecting any stray bolts and screws. He’d spent a while giggling in the pilot’s chair, spinning it slowly with his powers. Din had smiled at that, though something nagged the back of his mind. The child used his powers more frequently now. Nothing big, usually, just lifting and pushing small toys to entertain either himself or his companions. He was getting stronger, that was for sure, but Din wasn’t getting any more information to help him.

Something brushed Din’s hand and he jolted down to see the wire cutters floating just to the right of his outstretched hand. Slowly, he flipped his hand and they slid soundlessly through the air into his palm. He looked up to the child, who just tilted his little head expectantly.

“Buir?”

“Thank you,” Din said with a small nod.

“Buir,” the child nodded back, and Din smiled. The child was also growing; his vocabulary increased by a few more words- though he generally relied on ‘buir’ said in varying tones whenever he spoke to Din- and he’d grown about an inch.

Din turned his focus back to the wiring and after another ten minutes of struggling and occasionally reaching out for another tool, he slid out from the board.

“What do you say we go find us something to—” Din stopped short when he realized he was talking to empty air. “Kid?”

He turned the chair, hoping to see the child’s mischievous expression, but found nothing. He sighed, pulling himself to his feet. This wasn’t the first time the child silently wandered off and most likely wouldn’t be the last.

“C’mon out,” Din called into the lower level of the _Crest_ as he descended the ladder. The ship was quiet. An uneasy feeling prickled across Din’s skin. “Kid?”

He strained to pick out any sound. The kid loved to hide, but generally wasn’t very good at staying quiet. His excitement at the game would have him rustling about, moving from hiding place to hiding place. Din could always find him with a bit of focus and patience.

After ten minutes of tearing apart the ship, Din stepped out onto the ramp and quickly scanned the surrounding area. The _Crest_ was still parked in the large field at the back of the village. The tree line was close, and Din felt a twinge of fear; if the kid had wandered into the forest the likelihood of finding him was—

He cut off the thought before he could finish it and focused his attention on slowing his breathing. The child had to be around here somewhere. Din took off for the village.

It didn’t take long to find Omera. There must have been something about his gait that tipped off his predicament because no sooner did she greet him with a smile, it slid from her face.

“What’s wrong?” She stood from her work and closed the distance between them. Her arm was on Din’s, eyes searching the visor for any answers she could find.

“The kid,” Din couldn’t find it in him to care about his strangled tone. He looked around fervently, trying to pinpoint any sign of the small child. “He’s—”

“Din, calm down,” Omera’s voice was firm, but gentle. His name was enough to catch his attention. Ever since he had trusted her and Cara with that information, they hardly ever used it in conversation—something he counted as a small blessing. Her hand squeezed his arm and he brought his focus to her concerned face. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was on the _Crest_ , finishing up some wiring. The kid was helping for a while, passing me tools,” Din started rambling, again turning his gaze to begin his search of the space behind Omera’s head.

“Din.” Omera’s voice reigned him in. Din took a steadying breath. _Say what you mean._

“He’s gone. I thought he was hiding on the ship, but I looked everywhere.”

Omera nodded and turned to call out to the women behind her. They took the instruction immediately and began calling out for the child. Din turned on his heel and stalked off in the other direction, determination set in his shoulders. He could hear Omera pausing to tell each villager they passed to keep an eye out.

They had walked the entire village and there still was no sign of him. No one had seen him since they’d left for the _Crest_ this morning. He’d torn apart the barn, remembering the night with Omera and Cara when the child had playfully hidden behind the numerous boxes and barrels. Omera had commed Cara, who was on sentry duty, to start a scan of the forest perimeter. She’d then left to check in with the children to see if they had seen him.

By dusk, Din was on the verge of full on panic. His body thrummed uncomfortably with anxiety and he couldn’t stop moving, even when Omera had ushered him into her hut. Winta had been seated with a plate of food by fireplace and rose when they came in, the hope in her eyes melting when she realized both adults were empty handed.

“Omera, I can’t—” he’d started, trying to muscle his way back out the door.

“Just a glass of water. Then you can leave,” she said, her tone unwavering. He knew she meant it and he relented, his shoulders sagging forward slightly. She stepped around him and was back before he could bring himself to turn from the open door. A cup of water was pressed into his hand gently.

“Go through the door in the back. My room will give you enough privacy if you don’t want to return to the barn,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. He nodded numbly, tearing his gaze away from growing darkness outside and turned toward the door.

Once the door was shut, he glanced down at the water in his shaking hand. He gasped quietly and leaned his back heavily on the door. The helmet suddenly felt suffocating and he tried to release the clasp with trembling fingers. He yanked it free and tossed it unceremoniously to the ground as he slid down to sit, knees tucked to his chest. In the moments in the barn when he’d thought he’d lost the child the first time, anxiety had clawed at the walls of his chest. He felt like he couldn’t take a full breath and would never have steady hands again. It had been awful.

This was worse. Exponentially.

His blood roared in his ears deafeningly. He couldn’t focus on anything for longer than a few seconds and his mind ran rampant with every terrible scenario it could think of. The clawing anxiety was back and felt like it was tearing a hole through his ribs. Breathing was a monumental task, getting harder as the seconds passed. He sucked in a deep breath that caught in his throat as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he took another deep, gasping breath to steel himself.

He downed the water in one gulp and chastised himself with an audible curse. Sitting around would do nothing to help his child and it was Din’s fault he was lost in the first place. He snatched his helmet from the ground and put it on as he rose, ignoring his shaking legs. No more breaks. He would find his kid, or he would die trying. No one could convince him otherwise.

The door opened with a creak that had two pairs of eyes on him immediately. Winta looked like she had been crying, eyes rimmed red and she looked away quickly. Omera stood by the small sink, abandoning the dishes to turn to face him.

“I got you some food,” she started, but Din was already halfway across the room.

“Not hungry.” It wasn’t a lie. Thinking about eating had his stomach constricting with anxiety—not to think of the waste of time it would be.

“You need to eat. You’re no good to him exhausted,” Omera insisted, grabbing his wrist. He paused but didn’t turn.

“I’m no good to him at all,” he mumbled, voice low.

“That’s _not_ true,” Omera’s voice was steely, a tone he’d never heard before.

“Tell me how,” he snapped, turning to face her. “He’s gone and it’s my fault. I should never have let him out of my sight.”

“You can’t have eyes everywhere. The blame isn’t yours to carry,” Omera said, her voice rising slightly to meet his, but in desperation not in anger.

“Then who?”

“All of us. The village. We all could’ve—”

“He’s _my_ responsibility,” Din’s voice was verging on dangerous, but Omera wouldn’t back down.

“He’s _all_ of our responsibility. Ever since you came—”

“Ever since I came here, all I’ve done is convince myself of things that aren’t true. I’ve let my guard down. This place has made me weak and lazy and look what I have to show for it! We don’t _belong_ here, Omera! If I had just left weeks ago, none of this—” his voice broke and he stopped, feeling more drained than before. He shook his head and sucked in a slow, shaky breath.

Omera watched the Mandalorian with tears in her eyes. Her emotions swirled in a furious mix of fear, frustration and sadness, but she knew she couldn’t keep this conversation up. Helmet or not, she could see the bone-deep anxiety and fatigue weighing him into the ground. The way his shoulders sloped down instead of proudly back, the way his visor wouldn’t meet her gaze—none of it was right. This wasn’t the Mandalorian she thanked the stars for every night.

She sighed and quickly wiped at the stray tear that trailed across her cheek. With shoulders pressed back, she stepped around Din and grabbed the flashlight that hung near the door.

“Come. We will find your son,” she said, her voice quiet.

Guilt flooded Din and it threatened to overwhelm him. He’d just yelled at her, told her he was weak because of her village, because of her, and she was the first out the door. He would never understand her goodness, and he would never be able to make up the debt he owed her.

Omera threw an order over her shoulder for Winta to stay in the house and made for the edge of the tree line. Another light was coming out of the woods and Din found himself jogging to catch up. Cara slowed her pace when she saw them coming toward her. She was empty handed.

“Nothing,” she said, uncharacteristically quiet. She looked between Omera and Din, willing to let either take the lead. When neither said anything, she sighed and began thinking.

“Din, when’s the last time you checked the _Crest_?”

“Afternoon.”

“Go check again. Kid may’ve gone back there after, looking for you. I’ll sweep around the village, see if anyone’s seen anything yet. Omera, you come with me.”

“Wait,” Din said. The women turned to him, clearly awaiting pushback. “Omera.”

“What?” she said, trying and failing to keep the frustrated venom from her words. The words ‘come with me’ had been on the tip of his tongue. Unsure why she would agree, being that he had just blamed her for his failings, he shut his mouth. Clearly, he’d hurt her; he couldn’t blame her for that. He shook his head slightly, thinking of the time he was wasting by continuing to show his weakness. He could go alone. It was tactical to have Omera with Cara scanning the village.

“Never mind.” He turned on his heel and began walking back the way they’d come, trying to regain some control of his emotions. Omera sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Din,” Omera called, beginning to jog after him. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said flatly. “Go with Cara, she’ll need the help.”

“Do you need me to come with you?” She asked as she fell into step beside him.

“No,” he said too harshly.

“Do you want me to?”

His steps faltered and he turned his head a fraction in her direction. He took a breath and set off again, not giving an answer. Omera turned back find Cara already striding past her.

“We’ll all go together. If he’s not there, then we’ll split up to comb the village. Makes sense. They’ll be more eyes that way.”

Omera thanked her lucky stars silently and turned to follow the others.

**

By the time they passed the last of the houses and the field opened in front of them, they were silently walking side by side. The moon cast a soft, hazy light on the grass and haloed the _Razor Crest_ against the dark forest. Din had left the hatch open. Just in case the kid tried to return, he’d have somewhere familiar and relatively safe to go. A warm light flooded down the ramp and stood in stark contrast to the cool light of the moon. That was enough to make Din pause.

“What is it?” Cara said, stopping and swinging her light wide, tensing.

“The light,” he said, gesturing forward across the field. “It’s motion activated.”

Din took off running before he even finished his sentence. They were much too far from the hatch to activate the lights. The kid had to be there. His focus was only on the _Crest_ as he sprinted. As he got closer, he didn’t have to use his helmet’s tech to make out the small figure silhouetted in the light. It sat at the top of the ramp, large ears swiveling side to side.

“Ad’ika!” Din’s voice was strangled as he shouted across the open space. That got the kid’s attention and the dark figure stood. “Ad’ika!”

Din pushed himself harder and didn’t stop until he thundered up the ramp, falling to his knees and scooping the child into his arms. The child burrowed close, whimpering garbled words into Din’s neck. Din returned it with rushed apologies and broken strings of Mando’a in a vain attempt to comfort them both. Tears finally spilled over his cheeks as he pulled back to briefly check the child over for any sign of injury.

“Where have you—” Din ran shaking fingers across the child’s ears. He was dirty, his face and robes covered in mud. It was long dry, and Din tried to brush some of it away as he continued his scan. Nothing major, much to Din’s relief, only a few minor scratches. “Oh, ad’ika…”

“Buir…” the child pulled himself to stand on Din’s legs and reach up with his hands on either side of Din’s helmet. “Buir? Puh-ese?”

The sound of two sets of footsteps coming up the ramp weren’t enough to startle Din from his focus on the child.

“Is he alright?” Cara was kneeling beside them to Din’s left and Omera quickly dipped into his view on the right.

“Yeah…” he croaked, breaths coming in short and ragged.

“Are you?” Omera ventured. The silence grew as Din just tried to regain some semblance of control over himself. He couldn’t quite bring himself to; each time he looked at the child gripping his clothes tightly, eyes screwed shut, tears streaking the dust, Din choked up again and couldn’t get out the words.

“No,” he said finally. They stayed there, just kneeling on the ramp in relative quiet for a while. Omera and Cara shared concerned glances over Din’s head. Finally, Omera placed a gentle hand on Din’s back.

“Let’s head back to the village. I think we all could use some rest,” she said, keeping her tone soft and searching the side of the visor for any sign of acknowledgement. The child shifted and again reached up to grab at the edge of Din’s helmet.

He knew what the child was asking and wanted more than anything to strip the helm off. Anything that could lend an ounce of comfort to his child, he wanted to give in to. Going back to the barn they shared with Cara would make that impossible, though. The thought of denying the child anything felt like it might kill Din.

“You two go. We’ll…uh,” he paused, still struggling to have any semblance of composure. “We’re going to stay on the _Crest_ tonight.”

Omera stilled and the words he’d said earlier in her hut came crashing back.

“Are you sure?” Omera said, trying to think of any strong argument against it.

“Yes.”

“Alright,” Omera nodded and rose even though everything in her screamed not to leave. She wanted to believe that he wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye, but the things he said earlier wouldn’t stop echoing in her head. _This place has made me lazy and weak and look what I have to show for it! We don’t belong here, Omera!_

Cara turned to look over her shoulder as they descended the ramp and Omera mirrored her.

“We’ll see you in the morning, Din,” she said with an air of finality. She hoped they would at least. Cara furrowed her brow in questioning, but Omera just mouthed ‘later’ as they turned to go.

**

Din had closed the hatch as soon as the two moving figures passed behind the first building of the village. He wasted no time pulling his helmet off and no sooner was it clear of his face, small tentative claws brushed his jaw.

“Buir,” the child said, pushing up close to rest his small face against his. It was an awkward position to hold, but Din brought his hands up cradle the boy as close as he could. Finally, he could take a breath without it shaking in his lungs. Exhaustion hit him like a blow to the gut and he leaned on the wall for support.

“Ad’ika. Please don’t _ever_ do that again. You could’ve…” Din stopped himself as his mind flashed every terrible possibility behind his eyelids again. “ _Please_.”

“Puh-ese,” the child whispered, nuzzling into Din further. Din exhaled somewhere between a laugh and a sob, his brows knitting together.

“Yeah, please. I’m begging.”

The child nodded, ears bouncing gently with the movement. Din sighed, pulling the child down to inspect his robes. Small leaves and twigs poked out of the folds.

“You’re filthy, ad’ika,” Din said, and the child had the audacity to giggle before burying his face in Din’s stomach. He balked slightly as he moved toward the fresher. He sat the child on the counter and turned some of his focus to removing each piece of his armor and piling them with much more care than he’d shown his helmet earlier at Omera’s house. A pang of guilt shot through his heart.

_Omera_.

With his whole torso now exposed, he leaned both hands on the small counter and sagged forward closing his eyes. The child sensed his shift in emotion and rose to stand. His face now only inches from Din’s, he grabbed his father’s arm.

“Buir?”

Din opened his eyes and only started slightly at the large, brown irises taking up his whole vision. He tried a small smile but gave up halfway through and took the child in the crook of his arm.

“Buir?” The child seemed to not want to let his question go as he looked up expectantly at Din’s face.

“It’s…” he paused. He was going to say, ‘it’s alright’, but nothing about the day or his behavior had been alright. What he had said about the village was not alright. Telling Omera and Cara to leave with barely a word—even when they had been worried about the kid all day and helped him scour the area—wasn’t alright. Yelling at Omera was definitely _not_ alright, especially- he now realized- in front of Winta. “I wasn’t very nice to Omera and Cara today.”

The child hummed tilted his head. Din turned the showerhead on and slipped the child from his robes. The water was warm, and he made quick work of cleaning them both- and the child’s clothes. The child was well-behaved the whole time. No protests or indignant squawking, which was a small mercy, but no laughter or playful antics, either. It tugged heavily at Din’s heart.

The child was silent as Din readied them for bed. He remained silent as Din slipped under the covers, dressed only in his light under layers, pulling the child close to his chest.

“Are you alright, ad’ika?” he said, brushing a gentle hand along the child’s ear. The child scrunched his face, an expression that would be terribly cute if it didn’t twist Din’s heart like a knife. Tears followed shortly after and Din sat up to nestle the child as close as he could from all sides. He let the child cry, resigning to just rub soothing circles on his back and occasionally whisper small comforting words.

Din sighed deeply, pulling the child into his arms and laying back down on the small cot. His sobs had quieted to sniffling. Din closed his eyes and his mind drifted back to his fight with Omera. He wanted to believe that he hadn’t meant the words he said, but he realized that he only regretted the tone he used. He meant what he’d said. He’d grown lazy here; shirking responsibility and relying to heavily on those around him. There was merit to having friends, he knew. He didn’t regret spending time on Sorgan- especially when the child had thrived so quickly. It wasn’t a weakness to have attachments, but it _was_ weak to ignore danger for want of comfort.

They’d stayed too long. That was for sure. They had to leave soon; Din accepted that with a heavy heart. Knowing they had to leave was easy; following through with it would be the challenge. He had half a mind to just take off now and never look back.

“Buir?”

Din started out of his thoughts, looking down into wide eyes.

“What is it, little one?”

“Buir, sow…” the child furrowed his brow and tried again. “Suh. Wow.”

Din stared, confused for a moment. The child repeated the sounds, faster this time and Din sucked in a breath, his world tilting on a precarious angle.

“No, no ad’ika. _I’m_ sorry,” he said, repeating the words as ramblings as he tucked his head into the boy’s. “ _I’m sorry. Ni ceta, ad’ika._ Forgive me.”

**

Omera woke with a start and a small gasp. She was on her feet and out the door before she could stop herself. The trek across the village was short and she sighed when she saw the _Crest_ just as she left it the previous night. The ramp was still closed and the haze from the morning hung low around the landing gear. She closed her eyes and couldn’t believe she was standing here like a child, checking to see if the Mandalorian- if Din- had left without saying goodbye.

“Don’t worry,” Cara’s voice was soft, but had regained its usual swaggering lilt. “I checked this morning, too.”

“I didn’t think he would…” she trailed off, staring at the ship.

“But, it’s Din.” Cara finished with a knowing nod. They had talked late into the night, despite the strain of the day. Once Winta had stopped asking if she could go see the child and had fell asleep, they moved to the chairs outside of her hut. Omera told her about what Din had said. Cara had simply listened and nodded for a long while.

“Yeah.” Omera breathed again and turned to walk back toward her hut, Cara following. Winta would be awake soon and things would be painfully normal. The small home was still quiet when they entered, though, and Omera set about warming up something to drink for them. They sat in silence, sipping their mugs and listening to the sounds of the forest waking up.

A soft knock on the door had them both on their feet before the door swung open slowly.

“Morning,” Din’s familiar modulated voice accompanied his tentative step into the house.

“Come in,” Omera whispered. “Winta’s still sleeping.”

Din nodded and gestured with one hand to the bundle in his arms. “So’s he.”

“How is he?” Cara said, stepping forward to steal a peek at the child.

“He’s alright. He was scared last night, but I think he’ll be okay.”

The silence stretched long enough to become slightly awkward as they all stood facing each other. Omera broke it first.

“You didn’t have to stay in the _Crest_ last night,” she said, trying not to sound accusatory.

“I know,” he started, not sure how to explain himself. “I…I wanted to be able to take my helmet off. For the kid. He kept asking and I couldn’t…not in the barn.”

“Of course,” Omera allowed a smile to curl her lips softly. It hadn’t crossed her mind that he would want to be alone with the child. She was so sure it was his insistence on distancing himself from them. The thought soothed her racing heart slightly.

“I should…” he started again, a different tone now. “I have to apologize to you both. Yesterday was…difficult.”

“It was difficult for all of us,” Omera nodded in understanding.

“Yes. Something I didn’t respect. I acted unacceptably. Especially to you, Omera. I should never have spoken to you like that.”

“Thank you, Din. I know you didn’t mean it.”

Din swallowed hard and looked between the two women before casting his eyes to the ground.

“I did.”

“What?” Omera asked, not following his meaning.

“I should’ve have raised my voice with you, but I meant most of what I said. We have stayed too long. We don’t belong here—”

“You could,” she interrupted him, her eyes piercing holes in his armor.

“Yes. But those hunting us will come eventually. I don’t want you or anyone here in the crossfire. We’ll be leaving.”

“Today?” The word was impossibly soft, and Din ignored the way his heart broke to hear it.

“No,” he responded in kind. “But in a few days.”

The silence returned and he shifted uncomfortably, not enjoying the two sets of eyes boring into him. He felt like his visor and armor were gone and he was laid bare in front of them for judgement.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, bowing his head.

“I understand,” Omera’s voice was devoid of any emotion and somehow that was worse than anything Din had prepared himself for. He looked to Cara for help, but she only offered a small shrug.

“Omera—”

“I’ll wake Winta. She was concerned for the child last night and would like to see him.”

Din watched Omera’s back as she closed the door to the small separate room behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope all of you have been staying safe and healthy in these crazy times! 
> 
> So, not so much clumsiness in this one, but this idea had been nagging at me for a while. I'm thinking maybe a chapter or two left on this fic (since I don't want to leave you with something so sad, especially during these times!), but I'm throwing around some potential ideas for other fics. If you all have any ideas for that or anything you'd like addressed in the last few chapters, again, I'm all ears! Thanks for all the love on this, you guys are truly amazing! Your comments and kudos keep me alive!
> 
> Also! I've made a tumblr (and a ko-fi with the same name): starrynaps :for stuff like this and my art! Check me out if you'd like, I'm open for asks, maybe even some commissions, but would love to hear from you guys if you're on there! 
> 
> Thanks again!


	9. mandokarla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting! Finally! Time is simultaneously flying by and dragging this year; I had no idea the last update was in April until I happened upon it today. I hope this pleases everyone, a little plot, a little memory, and a potential to open up the story in a few other directions.  
> Thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos, comments, and suggestions! They're so much appreciated and really give me such a boost (and inspiration- if this chapter is any indicator!).

“Is that all you got, _di’kut_?

Din stumbled back, trying to right himself. His height gave him no advantage and his lack of ability was making this all the worse.

The other children in the covert were already much more skilled than he was; it was embarrassingly apparent. He’d wanted to prove himself to his new family—show them he could be a fearsome Mandalorian. He wanted to make them proud that they had taken him in, not regretful. The only problem was his ambition was bigger than his prowess and he’d gotten a black eye instead. That was only last week.

“C’mon, runt. Show a little more _mandokar_ than that!” The boy in front of him was about twice, if not three times his size. Din had learned his name quickly after their first altercation: _Paz._

The other children had gathered to watch the brewing fight. Din had tried to mind his own business, but apparently Paz had other ideas. He _always_ seemed to have other ideas, Din thought.

Paz sneered and lunged forward. Din ducked, dodging to the side. With an aggressive swing, Paz’s fist connected with his side and Din grunted, not wanting to give the older boy too much satisfaction.

“ _Kaysh mirsh solus.”_ Din heard Paz snicker to the others. He didn’t know what it meant, but from the giggling of the others, it was clearly at his expense. Paz eyed him. “Come _on!_ ”

Din sucked in a deep breath, taking a moment to size up his opponent as they slowly edged around the circle the other’s created. Maybe his size wasn’t such a disadvantage after all. He wouldn’t be able to match Paz’s strength, but just _maybe_ , he could outsmart him.

“Why don’t _you_?” Din shot back, watching with careful eyes as Paz’s smirk grew.

“I don’t think you want to do that,” he said coolly, egged on by the whispers from the gathered crowd.

“You’re right. I couldn’t take down someone like you,” Din kept his eyes focused on Paz. His mando’a wasn’t great and he didn’t know many words yet, but he forced through anyway. “ _Ori'buyce, kih'kovid._ ”

Paz’s eyes flared and the laughter turned to murmurs. Clearly, he’d gotten his meaning across, broken language or not. “What did you just say to me, punk?”

“What? Can’t take your own punches?” Din could see the vein begin to pulse in the older boy’s forehead. His plan was working.

“You better shut your mouth,” Paz growled, his fists curling.

“Or what?” Din pushed. “You’re just scared to lose the respect you _think_ you have.”

“ _Ne shab'rud'nio,_ ” Paz roared. The others backed up a step as he charged at Din. The smaller boy waited until he was within punching distance and as Paz surged all his weight forward to grab him, Din dove through Paz’s legs. Din flipped around to find Paz sprawled across the floor. He scrambled, pulling himself over the larger boy and landing two swift punches before stepping back.

The children watched with wide eyes and a few cast glances toward the door. Just then, Din realized two adult Mandalorians were leaning in the doorway, watching the fight unfurl, one of which was his caretaker. Din caught his breath just as Paz stood to face him, anger in his eyes flaring bright.

“How did you—” Paz began, moving to tower over him. Din stood perfectly still, not allowing Paz one inch of the intimidation he was clearly so used to.

“Get a brain and you’ll figure it out,” Din snipped, chest flaring in pride at the few chuckles the others gave.

Paz stewed, grinding his jaw. He stared down at Din, realizing his tactics were no use. Slowly, he took one step back, then another. There was a tense moment as everyone waited for someone to make the next move.

A hand extended to Din, who regarded it with a raised brow. Paz watched him with a ghost of his trademark smirk. “Okay, _mandokarla._ You got me. _This time_.”

Din took it, not showing one ounce of the shimmering pride he felt at having Paz call him ‘ _mandokarla’_. It was one thing to have his guardian say it; that felt obligatory, somehow, even if he knew words weren’t to be taken lightly from a Mandalorian’s mouth. This, though. This was different. This was _earned_. He nodded to Paz, then quickly glanced up to his guardian who offered him a simple nod in return.

Din felt invincible.

“Come on, _mir-sheb_ , let’s get something to eat, huh?” Paz locked him in under his arm and roughed a fist in Din’s hair. Din squirmed out and made to follow him from the room, but in his excitement at being considered part of the group, he missed the long-forgotten toy laying on the ground. His foot caught on it, sending him pitching forward. Paz, quicker than Din gave him credit for, caught him by his shirt just before his face smacked into the ground.

He was hauled unceremoniously to his feet by an elated Paz.

“ _Kaysh shu'shuk!_ ” he crowed to the others, garnering laughs. Din sighed; his pride ruined by his own lack of awareness. He had no idea what Paz said, but he had the feeling that if he didn’t embarrass himself out of their good graces, he’d have a full and colorful vocabulary from this group.

Paz tossed an arm around Din’s shoulders and pulled him from the room with bouts of laughter, the others drifting close behind. He was glad to see the adults had left and hoped that his slip hadn’t been seen by his guardian. He wanted to make him proud.

*

The days following the safe return of the child were tentative, at best. Omera seemed to be avoiding him, Din thought. If he were honest, though, he wasn’t exactly seeking out her attention either. He’d played the conversation from that night over in his head about a dozen times a day trying to figure a way to soften the truth, some way to apologize, but he’d spoken his mind. It just was, unfortunately, not a kind truth.

For the most part, he’d gone about his business as usual: drills, patrol, ship maintenance. He did notice the furtive looks from villagers growing in number since the incident. His presence seemed borrowed now, instead of welcomed. Winta would pass him and give a small smile, not greeting him with her normal, excited wave and toothy grin. That made Din’s heart ache, but he refused to acknowledge it. It would be better this way, Din convinced himself. They wouldn’t miss him if he made himself as heartless as the legends would have people believe.

His patrol ended early, nothing of news to report and confident in his sweep of the perimeter. He didn’t quite want to go back into the village, but he had no more excuses. Plus, he figured, the child would be hungry.

Din went first to the barn to stow his rifle and wash some of the day’s grime from his hands and face. His helmet released with a click and he set it on his cot. As he washed at the basin, he noticed a small note folded on the table. He crossed the room, shaking his hands dry, and took the rough strip of paper in his ungloved hands.

_We are playing and will bring your son home when it gets dark! ~~Promiss~~ Promise!_

The note wasn’t signed, but he didn’t have to be a detective to guess who wrote it. His mouth twitched up slightly, before he sighed, shaking his head.

He folded the small note and tucked it into his suit. Another keepsake for his growing collection. Sighing, he sat at the table. Maybe, he mused, once he was gone the memory the villagers had of him would be reduced to ‘the strange man in metal who commandeered the barn for a while’. He hoped for it. It would be easier on his conscience, he thought selfishly. He knew it wasn’t true—the festival alone was proof of the village’s thoughts of him, not to mention the children’s excited eyes watching him as he moved through the village when he returned from patrol, the plate always pulled aside for him before he had to ask, the accommodations for his culture beyond what he’d ever experienced. Din hung his head knowing his presence in Sorgan may be missed just as much as he would miss them.

His mind wandered to his covert. The Mandalorians were his clan, but that was very different than _belonging_ somewhere. He thought back to when he’d last felt like he could belong, and his memory swam through his second fight with Paz. An affectionate arm slung over his shoulder, a mutual respect, a shared meal. It had been only a few weeks after being brought into the covert. It would only be another week until he was officially adopted and swore his life to the creed—or committed he would when he was of age. Din smiled at the memory.

Before that, he only remembered feeling that way with his parents. The smile faded and he pushed that memory away before it had a chance to replay in his head.

He warred with himself. Maybe the things he said were too harsh. Strength in community wasn’t a foreign concept to him, but the fact that that community could lie outside of the Mandalorian creed, _that_ was new. He always believed the Creed to be the Way. The _only_ way. The people of Sorgan, though, were good and virtuous. Their way of life, though seemingly abstract to him at first, maybe wasn’t as far from his way of thinking as he thought.

He did adopt a baby who he’d been sent to destroy.

He did put himself and his clan in more danger just to take in that baby. Without question.

He’d spent the last ten minutes lost totally in his own mind. He didn’t even hear the sliding of the barn door.

*

Omera chewed her bottom lip. The hall was filled, the warm light from the fire making everyone glow. The Mandalorian’s child sat on the table between her and Cara while Winta chatted animatedly at her side. The baby was content to shove handfuls of food into his mouth. He babbled back to Winta without words, making the girl giggle. Omera knew it would be short lived. They were leaving in a day, so the Mandalorian had said in one of their curt conversations.

“Omera,” Cara called softly, tone indicative of having said her name more than once.

“Yes? Sorry,” she blinked back into the hall, mind focused solely on a particular armored man. Her thoughts had been turned to him for much of the week since the child had been found. His words still cut her heart like a blade. He insisted on not belonging in the village. She could understand his feelings, but she couldn’t disagree more. He’d made himself an installation. He was their friend, and his child was one of their own.

She stroked her finger along a long, green ear. The baby chirped up at her, trilling his affection. She smiled back, trying to keep the sadness from her expression.

“Winta, why don’t you go see what the other kids are up to?” Cara said, seeing the girl scoop the last of her dinner onto her spoon. Winta lit up with a smile and stood, reaching out her hands in invitation to the child.

“Be safe,” Omera called. “Come back when it gets dark.”

“We will!” Winta shouted back with a wave.

There was only a beat of silence before Cara turned back, dropping all traces of joviality.

“Okay, what is up with you?”

Omera sighed. “Nothing—”

“Oh, come on. Don’t give me that. You’ve been spaced out all week _and_ we’ve barely even seen the tin can. I know he’s leaving and all, but…” Cara trailed off, looking for Omera to answer the unsaid questions.

“He _could_ belong here. He does already; he’s just blind to it.”

Cara hummed, leaning back in her chair. “Mandalorian ties are strong, Omera. And if he’s _anything_ , he’s good at being a Mandalorian.”

“What do you mean?” Omera’s brows knit together.

“I mean, whatever creed he lives by—whatever ties he has, he doesn’t seem the type to jeopardize any of that. He’s been living that way for longer than we both know, maybe his whole life. Change is hard if he even wants to change at all.”

It was Omera’s turn to hum pensively. What was plain to her might not be so simple to someone who’s life had been dictated by a ridged structure and code. She hadn’t thought of it that way. Of course, she hadn’t wanted to seem unaccepting of his culture; it was part of what made him… _him._ In her hurt, she realized now, she blinded herself to how he may see the world. It was a much different world to her small farming village, she knew. Much crueler, she thought bitterly.

“You in there?” Cara called again, bringing Omera from her thoughts.

“Sorry. I was just thinking,” Omera smiled quickly. They sat in silence a moment longer before Omera promptly stood. Cara watched Omera’s hands wring her dress. Caught, Omera stopped and smoothed out the wrinkles with a nod. She went to the front of the barn and collected the plate for the Mandalorian.

Out of the hall, she wrapped her arms around herself. The air was chilling off; the seasons were changing. The walk to her barn was a short one, the covered plate in her hand. The sun was low in the sky, but not yet near the horizon. The Mandalorian was still out on patrol and she wanted to be able to have his dinner there when he returned. A peace offering, of sorts. The beginning of a longer apology.

The door swung open easily and Omera stepped inside without her usual greeting. She was focused on creating a dialogue for herself of the apology she’d made when she saw the Mandalorian next.

*

Din hadn’t heard the barn door slide open and he didn’t hear the quiet footsteps as they approached. It wasn’t until he saw movement from the corner of his eye did he realize he wasn’t alone in the barn.

He stiffened and watched Omera walk right by him, seemingly lost in her task. The plate was steaming under the cloth covering and she placed it on the makeshift counter. He was frozen, realizing, undoubtedly, any movement would cause Omera to turn out of instinct. His heart raced and he glanced quickly over to his helmet on the bed.

She fiddled with the covering and pulled out a few utensils and a cloth napkin. His mouth was entirely dry. He was running out of time; if she turned to leave, she would see him.

“Don’t turn around.” Din’s voice was rough and he stared at Omera from his position at the table. She startled, her soft gasp sounding much more real without the filter of his helmet.

“It’s me,” Din said, standing slowly. Omera shifted and he flinched. “Don’t—!”

She froze. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t…” he started, but Omera noted the change in his voice. She sucked in a breath.

“Your helmet.”

“Just…don’t move.” He clenched his shaking fingers into fists. “It’s over on my bed.”

In slow, deliberate moves Din crossed the room, not taking his eyes off the woman at the counter. He had every trust she wouldn’t turn; if she wanted to see him without his helmet, there were plenty of opportunities before now. Plus, is she had shown any intent to see his face, he most likely would never have felt safe enough to take his helmet off in the first place.

The realization of how safe he felt in the village felt like a kick to his head.

Once the helmet was securely back in place, he let out a sigh of relief. Omera must have heard the click of the locks engaging because she moved but caught herself before turning.

“Is it…?”

“Yes. You can turn around. Sorry.”

Omera turned and eyed him. “ _You’re_ sorry?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you. Or order you around in your own home.”

Omera huffed and let her hands fall to her sides in exasperation. “I come in unannounced to space that is effectively yours and almost ruin the lifelong creed you’ve sworn yourself to and _you’re_ apologizing to _me_.”

Din shifted under her gaze. “Well, when you put it like that…”

She shook her head and took a step forward. “ _I’m_ sorry.”

“Thank you,” Din nodded. “And thank you for dinner.”

He’d be lying if he didn’t feel the tension between them. This was the longest and least confrontational conversation they’d had in days. He had a million things to say, but no words to express them.

“There’s something else…” Omera said, pulling his focus back to her. “That I’m sorry for.”

Din tilted his helmet. He didn’t miss her bite the inside of her lip or the way she didn’t meet his visor.

“What—” he started, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“I’ve realized I’ve been selfish. I hadn’t thought about what that might mean for you or even how difficult it might be to change a lifestyle that you have grown accustomed to. I claimed to respect your way of life, but then was unable to follow through when it was more nuanced than not seeing your face. I’m sorry.”

Din was speechless. This woman’s compassion knew no bounds.

“Omera, I—” he sighed and shook his head. “Thank you. The apology goes both ways.”

He hesitated, then, unsure of how much to divulge. He heard his guardian’s voice in his head: _Slow down, Din. Say what you mean._

Omera waited, watching his visor intently.

“I have been on my own for most of my life. Even within my clan. As much as the way of a Mandalorian is to support their clan, we’re taught to be self-sufficient. Not to rely on anyone. There will be times when you will only have yourself and that needs to be enough.”

He paused. “I’d forgotten what it was like to feel as though I belonged somewhere. I’d forgotten how to trust others.”

“Understandable. Your life doesn’t seem to be an easy one.”

Din chuckled lowly at her summation. “No. It hasn’t been.”

“You can belong here, should you wish to, in whatever capacity that would suit you.”

“You are kinder than I deserve.”

Omera frowned. “What makes you think you aren’t deserving of kindness?”

Din didn’t have an answer. He opened his mouth, paused, and shut it again. Omera waited a moment before smiling sadly.

“I am indebted to you. Your respect for my beliefs, your care for my child…everything. Omera, I see now it isn’t a weakness to ask for the help of others.”

Omera smiled and shook her head. “There is no debt here.” Din shifted, ready to insist on his debt for all the things he’d mentioned and about a dozen he hadn’t, but Omera already held a finger out to him. “You won’t win this battle.”

He scoffed lightly, knowing when he was on the losing side. “Fine.”

“So…” Omera looked up at him, a question dancing on her lips. “Will you stay?”

Ah.

“I need to work, and frankly I’m not great at de-husking krill,” he joked, reveling in the amused expression Omera gave him. “And the kid…I have to find someone who can help him.”

She nodded. “I see.”

“But…” he said, trying to find his words. “I might come back? Between missions. Use Sorgan as a…base?”

Omera’s face flashed through a myriad of emotions before settling on smug joy. “If that’s what you’d like to call it.”

Din reeled back slightly at the quip. “What else would I call it?”

“‘A home’ is the generally agreed upon term, of which you can have multiple” she ribbed, watching his shoulders twitch. He hummed. His brain tried to think of a way to refute her but found that the word _did_ fit his description of the village. It also made a small, warm swell in his chest at the sound of it. Something about it felt right.

“But ‘base’ works just as well,” Omera added quickly as his lack of answer continued. She wrung her hands in her skirt.

“ _Yaim_ ,” he said simply. The warmth swelled a bit brighter this time. She turned her head.

“Is that how you say ‘base’ in your language?”

He smiled, glad for the cover of his helmet. “Something like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, suggestions, comments, and any other related notes/media are encouraged! Thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> Mando'a translations for this chapter (provided by mandoa[.]org):
> 
> di’kut - idiot  
> mandokar – the ‘right stuff’; epitome of Mandalorian virtue  
> kaysh mirsh solus – he’s an idiot; literally: his brain cell is lonely  
> ori'buyce, kih'kovid – Common term of derision for someone with an overdeveloped sense of authority; literally: all helmet, no head  
> ne shab'rud'nio - Don't mess with me (extremely strong warning - much stronger than jurkadir - and likely to be followed by violence)  
> mandokarla - having the ‘right stuff’, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue  
> mir-sheb - smartass  
> kaysh shu'shuk – he’s a disaster  
> yaim - home

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave some kudos or comments if you have any ideas for clumsy Mandalorian situations! We'll see where this goes- most likely some loosely connected one-shots, but the world is our oyster, so really, who's to say.


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